


A hundred days (and counting)

by hope_calaris, Rei



Series: Unaware!verse [1]
Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Academy Era, Angst, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Gen, Hurt!Jim, Hurt/Comfort, Parent Pike, Pre-Slash, protective!bones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-13
Updated: 2011-12-13
Packaged: 2017-10-27 07:30:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/293219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hope_calaris/pseuds/hope_calaris, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rei/pseuds/Rei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Jim is like quicksilver. He’s constantly moving, always on the go, always two steps ahead of everybody and always out of reach. He’s not something to have. He’s not somebody you could ever own or call yours. Jim is just made to let go, and letting go is the one thing McCoy sucks at the most.</i> But maybe, McCoy realizes, Jim doesn’t want to let him go either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** The moment unicorns are real, Bones and Kirk are gonna make out on the big screen.
> 
> A link to wonderful fanart for the story can be found [here](http://bionic.livejournal.com/403636.html).
> 
> A link to equally fabulous fanmixes can be found [here](http://chasingthewinds.livejournal.com/332564.html#cutid1) and [here](http://nifty-cricket.livejournal.com/8256.html).

_  
  
_

_  
**Day 1**   
_

The thing is McCoy has had a bad day. All the other cadets are way younger than he is and he bets half of them are going to spend their first evening on campus founding a fraternity. McCoy doesn’t need a damn fraternity to get himself comfortably boozed. Actually, he’s already halfway there and doesn’t plan on moving away from his bottle of bourbon any time soon.

Thing is, his life never went according to plan; it just laughed in his face and screwed him over. So he rolls his eyes and finally opens the door after having lived with its chiming for a few minutes. He’s drunk and pissed and this better not be one of these stupid fraternity boys asking if he wants to join them.

It’s his luck that the blue-eyed boy smiling at him just looks like one of its founding fathers.

“Who are you?” He barks.

From one second to the next the grin vanishes from the boy’s face and he looks like a kicked puppy … oh, yeah, that’s something McCoy remembers. He searches for a name in his mind, but it’s really difficult when the bourbon is spreading through his bones, and the kid is turning away, already a few meters away from his door, when he finally remembers.

“Jim! Jim, hey, stop!” The kid turns back to him and he sees the suppressed, but hopeful look in his eyes. “Don’t you want to come in? I’ve got enough bourbon for two.” A smile is spreading over Jim’s face and McCoy swears that swears the kid could do toothpaste ads with it. He must have said that aloud, because Jim is laughing when he follows him into his room.

 _  
**Day 2**   
_

McCoy is cranky, and in a bad mood and Jim really is just the easiest target available and he kind of deserves it for coming to McCoy’s dorm _again_ , and for pestering McCoy _again_.

After the first “boy” Jim doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even give any notice he had heard it.

After the second “boy” he reminds McCoy that he has a name.

After the third “boy” Jim grabs his stuff and leaves without a word.

McCoy feels even worse when the door closes again, and he never calls Jim “boy” again.

 _  
**Day 3**   
_

“You got plans?” Jim asks, leaning casually at the door frame as if he had a reason to be here. He hasn’t, just for the record. He just keeps coming back like a stray cat. Stray dog. Stray … something. Not feeding him doesn’t actually help to get rid of him.

“Plans?” McCoy blinks and swallows the ‘ _Who the hell are you and why are you stalking me?_ ’ that’s on the tip of his tongue. He kind of figures they covered that yesterday. And the day before.

“Yeah, you know, for tonight?”

McCoy rolls his eyes. “Drowning in Bourbon and feeling angry at the world sounded like a good plan until now. You got any problems with that?”

“No, that’s pretty cool.” Jim nods. “Mind if I join you?”

“Yes!”

“Great. I got crackers.”

 _  
**Day 4**   
_

“I had a thought!” Jim exclaims theatrically as soon as McCoy opens the door.

“The hell …? What are you …?”

“I just realized we could drink bourbon and wallow in misery the whole night _outside_ your room, too! So come on man, this is going to be a blast!”

He hasn’t even time to explain to Jim that the whole concept of wallowing in misery and ‘ _having a blast_ ’ are mutually exclusive. In Jim’s world they’re probably not.

 _  
**Day 5**   
_

“Are you drunk?”

He has kind of forgotten how he ended up next to Jim in _Basic Warp Design_. Or when he ever decided he should take a course about _Basic Warp Design_?! What the hell is wrong with him? He’s a doctor, not an engineer.

Since the moment he set foot on this shuttle, he knew he would crack eventually. And as soon as he decided to replace his morning coffee with bourbon today he knew he was screwed. Usually he can hold his liquor, but not even he’s that good.

This was a bad idea. Everything. The whole Starfleet Academy-thing. Bad. Bad idea. He’s too old and too cynical and he’s way too miserable. He doesn’t belong here, right in the middle between fresh-faced, overenthusiastic teenagers. He’s a doctor, not a student, and at the moment he’s not even a good doctor.

His wife was probably right about everything, including the fact that he’s a loser and will be a loser until the day he’s going to disintegrate into particles.

“I don’t believe it,” Jim hisses. “… You’re drunk!”

“I’m not.”

“You’ve got to be kidding. Shit. It’s like eleven a.m.!” He sounds exasperated, amused and worried, all at the same time. Jim is completely unable to be only one thing at a time like normal people. He’s everything at once, too intense and too bright and too _much_ and he crashed into his life like a meteor … and McCoy doesn’t even remember how they’ve gotten out of the classroom. So yes, maybe he’s a _little_ drunk.

“Look, don’t worry, it’s only the first week, they don’t know the faces anyway. Nobody is going to remember we weren’t there today,” Jim says walking next to him. “I’ll just take you to your room and nobody’s going to know anything. And _Basic Warp Design_ is kind of … basic anyway. Who cares about the basics, right?”

“You should go back,” he says, because it’s the right thing to say, even though for the first time he actually doesn’t want Jim to go.

Jim waves airily, one hand casual and steady on McCoy’s elbow. “Nah, been there, done that. Basic Warp is not that hard. You promised to show me how to avoid space herpes anyway. I’m an eager learner.”

Only hours later McCoy realizes Jim most likely had just saved his ass. And he has not the faintest idea why he did.

 _  
**Day 6**   
_

“What are you doing here? _Again_! And what is that supposed to be?”

“It’s called, let’s see … orange juice. Very twentieth century, I know, but I thought we might try something different from the bourbon from time to time.”

He’s not stupid, okay? He sees right through Jim’s casual smile and easy laughter and he knows what the brat is trying to do.

And he doesn’t need it.

But instead of throwing Jim out of his room he just sighs and opens the door a little more. Then he spends the rest of the evening listening to Jim’s anecdotes about sex in cramped places, and with zero gravity.

It might even be a little bit more fun than drowning in bourbon and wallowing in misery. He still doesn’t get why the kid keeps coming back to him though.  
 _ **  
Day 7**_

There’s a muffled crash. Then he hears Jim cursing from the kitchen. “Shit …”

“What?” McCoy is kind of grumpy, and it’s got nothing to do with the fact that Kirk somehow made him forget to drink something yesterday. It’s not as if he needs the bourbon or anything. It’s just … the world is a lot brighter and louder and faster now without that soft fuzzy blanket that he’s grown so accustomed to. It might be the lack of bourbon or it might be Jim, he isn’t so sure about that.

“I … uh … look, I’m really sorry, but …” Jim hesitates. “I think I broke something.”

“Great.” McCoy rolls his eyes and rises from the couch. “What do you mean, you ‘ _broke_ ’ something? Like bones? Or like stuff?” He doesn’t really care about stuff so this is actually a valid question. He wonders fleetingly when it had started to become so normal that Jim showed up at his doorstep every evening and rummaged around in his sparse kitchen for food.

“Like stuff.” To his utter surprise he feels a surge of relief at that, but then Jim adds, sounding a little reluctant and embarrassed all at the same time: “You might want to take a look nevertheless … I … I’m kind of bleeding over your stuff. A little bit.”

He can’t even remember moving so fast, but between one blink and another he finds himself next to the kitchen sink.

“Oh come on … what the hell did you do?” He barks at the sight in front of him. There are broken glass shards and angry looking cuts at Jim’s hands and right forearm, and he’s bleeding more than ‘ _a little bit_ ’.

Jim shrugs carelessly. “I guess I was a bit clumsy.”

That’s a lie if he ever heard one. He might not know that guy well, but _that_ he knows - Jim is a lot of things, but clumsy isn’t one of them. It’s only after he realizes exactly _which_ bottle he broke, that he gets what Jim is trying to do. Except … he totally doesn’t get it.

Silently he watches drips of bourbon mixing with drips of Jim’s blood in the sink.

“I’ll buy you a new one if you want me to,” Jim offers, looking at him all earnest and sincere while McCoy is about to patch up his arm. It’s a silly little question and it’s so much more than that.

He feels torn between anger and amazement, between shaking some sense into him (because the kid is clearly a loony little nut job) and a strange kind of worry that goes deeper than he expected.

Jim is self-destructive and reckless and hopelessly devoted in everything he does. Hurting himself so other people don’t get hurt in the long shot seems perfectly logical and acceptable to him … and it scares the hell out of McCoy.

“No, thanks,” he finally says and Jim smiles and nods as if he’d expected it.

 **  
_Day 8_   
**

He’s disgustingly sober. He hasn’t been really sober for a while now and it feels weird in a ‘not exactly bad’-way. Damn it, Jim.

“Hey, did you shave?”

“No.”

“You _did_ shave.” Jim looks interested. “Looks good. You know, young and smart. The girls are going to love it.”

“No, smart alec, I didn’t shave. My facial hair is trained to drop from my body every other week, alright?”

Jim cocks his head to the side. “Only the facial hair?”

Unbelievable. Bones flips him off and walks away. He’s totally not smiling. No way.

 _  
**Day 9**   
_

That evening McCoy catches Jim staring at him across the table. At first he ignores it and tries to concentrate on his assignment. After five minutes of eerily silence from the other end of the table he gives in, because _Advanced Theoretical Physics_ is a bitch.

“What?” He snaps irritated. “Something on my face I should know about?”

Jim shakes his head, still staring hard and concentrating like he’s trying to … see something. It makes McCoy slightly uncomfortable. More often than not Jim looks relaxed and dorky with that silly little grin of his, so it’s kind of unsettling to be scrutinized like that.  
McCoy rolls his eyes. Even when he’s quiet the kid is able to annoy the hell out of him.

“Take a picture. It lasts longer.”

“It’s just …” Jim cocks his head, still deep in thought. “You don’t look like a Leonard to me.”

Okay. _That?_ Completely unexpected.

“Yeah thanks, whatever.” McCoy grimaces. “I’d rather you wouldn’t call me that anyway.” Nobody calls him Leonard anymore. Only his mother ever did and then later his ex-wife did too, mostly when she was angry with him, which she was a lot during those last few weeks. Or maybe months. It still makes him flinch a little bit every time someone says it.

“But it’s your real name, isn’t it?” Jim asks, sounding completely sincere as if he honestly expects McCoy to use a fake name just for the hell of it.

“Yes, Jim, it’s really my name. And I’m really going to punch you if you ever use it.”

“Leonard,” Jim mouths, frowning some more. “Leo. Leon? Lenny.”

McCoy snaps his book shut and throws him an evil look. “You ever call me Lenny, you little brat, and I swear, I’ll end you. Call me McCoy if you actually need to call me something. Everybody else does, too. I heard ‘ _hey you_ ’ works fine, as wel.”

“I don’t wanna call you McCoy.”

“Why not? What the hell is wrong with that name?” He can’t help but feel a little offended. ‘ _McCoy_ ’ is a fucking decent and completely normal name!

Jim shakes his head. “I don’t like calling friends by their last name. It feels … impersonal.”

“ _Impersonal?_ What the …? You call everybody else by their last name!” McCoy points out, because it’s true.

Jim shrugs and averts his eyes. He plays with his pencil, looks kind of vulnerable and embarrassed all at the same time. “They’re not friends,” he finally answers.

McCoy opens and closes his mouth without saying anything.

“You know, ’ _Doc_ ’ could work,” Jim adds hastily, as if he’s afraid McCoy would dare to comment on this statement. Well, McCoy won’t, because he’s rendered speechless.

“Wait no, not ‚ _Doc_ ’ …“ Jim is still staring at him, eyes narrowed and focused. Suddenly a blinding grin starts to spread over his features. He leans back and crosses his arms behind his head. “What did you say in the shuttle? All you have left are your bones? Sawbones,” he announces with a cocky grin.

“What the …?” McCoy sputters. “Do I look like a butcher to you? I’m a doctor, not a veterinarian!”

“Easy, short. To the point. I like it. Sawbones … Bones! Nice ring.”

“It’s ridiculous!”

“I can live with Bones,” Jim nods, sounding completely satisfied for the first time.

“Well, I can’t!”

As it turns out he has no say on the matter.

 _  
**Day 10**   
_

“Bones!” McCoy shudders at being called by that name. It’s also way too early to sound this happy, even though the sun is already shining brightly.

“What?” He turns around, but it’s too late and he’s already got one of Jim’s arms casually slung over his shoulder. McCoy sighs and just lets it happen. It’s way too early to give a damn.

“Don’t look so grumpy, Bones.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Anyway, Bones. I was wondering …”

“Please, no.” He rolls his eyes at Jim, but this guy only grins back at him.

“How come you’ve got a single apartment?” Jim asks while they go side by side across the lawn.

“Jealous much?”

“Just curious.”

“I bribed the accommodation office with my grandmother’s delicious chocolate-lemon-cake, if you really need to know it.” For a second Jim looks like he actually believes him and the wondrous powers of his nanny’s cake, and McCoy has to laugh. “No, Jim. I’m what they so nicely call a _mature_ student. And because I know way more about toxins and undetectable poison than the rest of the medical students, for everybody’s safety it was decided that I don’t have to share my room with some frat boy,” he explains and leaves out the part where he thought Jim to be one of their honorary members.

 _  
**Day 11**   
_

They hadn’t talked about it, but somehow they manage to end up in the cafeteria at the same time. After they had two different classes at the opposite side of the campus.

McCoy thinks he just should stop wondering, it would probably make everything so much easier. Jim doesn’t seem to find it odd that they stand next to each other in line for their meals, he just smiles and is hell bent on making McCoy’s stomach turning inside out with all the crap Jim plans to eat for lunch.

“And then, I’m gonna have extra chocolate on my triple-choco-shock ice cream.”

“Jim, you’re going to die before you’re thirty if you make this your choice of lunch everyday,” he admonishes him. Jim stops in the description of his plans and looks at McCoy, as if it is a novel idea for him to be alive at that age. It’s only for a second, but McCoy’s stomach tightens for completely different reasons this time.

“Naaah, Bones – “

“I’ll take you for strippers and beer if you,” McCoy disrupts him and grabs the nearest healthy thing he can find, “at least add an apple a day to your diet.”

Jim takes a step back when McCoy all but shoves the Golden Delicious in his face. It takes a moment, but slowly Jim takes the apple out of McCoy’s hands and puts it onto his tray.

 _  
**Day 12**   
_

“No offense or anything, but why the hell are you still here?”

McCoy yawns. It’s almost one o’clock in the morning, he’s tired and he had a damn long day. He gets cranky when he’s tired.

Jim is sprawled lazily on the couch, looking almost half asleep himself. This question makes him jolt though, almost as if he had been waiting for it. He straightens.

“Uhm look …” He hesitates and fiddles with his beer. Eventually he coughs and throws an innocent smile at him that makes McCoy instantly suspicious. “Since you’re alone all the time and I feel really bad for you – not to mention I can’t hardly stand that lonely, miserable little look you always get when I’m leaving - I thought I’d do you a favor and stay the night. Just, you know … to make you feel a little bit better for not being such an exuberant, charismatic personality as me.”

McCoy raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Are you begging me for a place to crash?”

“If you _want_ to put it that way …” Jim shrugs that careless little shrug that means he feels really uncomfortable and is trying not to show it. It makes McCoy wonder. What is his problem? And when the hell had he begun to know the kid so well that he recognizes different kinds of shrugs?

“Don’t you have your own place?” He inquires.

“I guess.”

“Did it burn down or something?”

“No.”

“Bugs? Vermin? Plague?”

“Well, that’s one way to put it …”

McCoy stares at him and Jim sighs eventually. “See, I got this roommate named Steve …”

 _  
**Day 13**   
_

McCoy is pissed off. He’s sitting in some hall with a famous name with hundreds of other students, its way too overcrowded, the air is sticky and hot and he has much better things to do than to listen to some greenhorn promising the beginning of Admiral Desmond’s speech in the next five minutes for the _sixth_ time.

McCoy growls at no one in particular when the greenhorn leaves the stage, and seriously contemplates just leaving this stupid exercise in futility when Jim suddenly reappears next to him.

“Where’ve you been?” He asks with a scowl.

“Relax, Bones,” Jim says and settles down next to him. That’s when McCoy sees what Jim is carrying.

“Is that what I think it is?”

Jim slouches back into his seat, a shit-eating grin on his face. “Oh yes, I think, Doctor McCoy. Original Risan mai-tai. Well, as originally as you can get it with a replicator.”

“The _replicator_?!? Don’t tell me it’s on their menu.”

“It is now.” Jim hands him the mai-tai and he takes a sip. It’s delicious. Exactly what he needed to endure this otherwise horrible afternoon.

 _  
**Day 14**   
_

“I can’t believe it,” Jim exclaims as soon as he’s enters through the door. McCoy is not really sure he wants to know what exactly Jim doesn’t believe, but he can’t help himself. He’s a hopeless fool in that way.

“What? Did some hot chick withstand your overly confident charm?”

“Ha-ha.” Jim just shakes his head. “As if that’s possible. No, Uhura still hasn’t told me her first name. And I had her sitting next to me for two hours during xenolinguistic!” Jim sits down on the couch, looking somewhat angry.

“Wow, I’d sure like to meet that fine woman.” McCoy laughs and is fast enough to duck when Jim throws one of the cushions in his direction.

 _  
**Day 15**   
_

“You’re what?”

“Treasurer of the Xenolinguistic Club!”

“Yeah, I got that.” He still stares incredulously at his smirking counterpart. “What I don’t get is _why_?”

“Aw, come on Bones! The Academy is all about learning new stuff, meeting new species. What a better way to connect than to learn their languages?”

Jim is still smiling his shit-eating grin when Bones leans back on the couch. “I think you’re trying to bullshit me.” He tilts his head. “Who’s in that club?”

”You wound me!”

McCoy just raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, okay. Uhura is the president.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“What’s her first name?”

Jim shrugs with his shoulders. “Don’t know, she wouldn’t tell.”

 _  
**Day 16**   
_

Somehow, McCoy thinks, he should have known this. Leaving Jim alone in his dorm was a bad idea, but the thing is that McCoy’s heart refuses to acknowledge any objections his brain might have concerning this kid.

So it doesn’t really come as a surprise when McCoy gets back from his trip to the library just shy of midnight and sees half the floor occupants gathered around his room door, where smoke is welling up and some of the Academy’s very own firefighters block the entrance.

He doesn’t think about his worldly belongings, about the picture of Joanna and the stethoscope from his dad, his only concern is Jim and he swears his heart doesn’t beat until he sees his personal troublemaker leaning against the wall next to the door, spotting dark smears of grime on his face.

“Jim?” McCoy asks when he’s pushed his way through the crowd and Jim jumps a little bit at the sound of his voice.

“Oh, Bones … “Jim’s gaze travels between McCoy and the dorm back and forth and he’s nervously kneading his fingers. “Gosh, I’m so sorry. I just wanted … you know … to …eh … cook.” He looks utterly guilty and won’t meet McCoy’s eyes. “And then something exploded and … gosh, I’m so sorry.” He brushes his hand through his hair, making it look even more disheveled. “I just shouldn’t cook, you know? I never got this right, not even when I had to – “He suddenly stops, as if he’s already said too much, as if that’s a story Jim would rather leave untold.

“Jim, hey,” McCoy lays his hand on Jim’s shoulder and Jim stops fidgeting. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

Finally, Jim meets his eyes again, but his eyes only betray confusion and fear, and McCoy has the feeling this is another of these untold stories. “Am I hurt? Bones, I just burnt down your kitchen!”

McCoy makes a wave with his hand in the general direction of his dorm. “It’s only a kitchen. I wanna know if you’re hurt, are you?”

Jim still stares at him as if he doesn’t really understand the question, but finally he nods. “I think I burnt my left arm, but it’s nothing, really.”

McCoy sighs mentally and shoves Jim in front of him. “Start walking. We’ll get you checked out in the hospital.”

 _  
**Day 17**   
_

It is past midnight when they reach the Academy hospital and McCoy makes Jim sit down on one of the biobeds in an otherwise empty room while he gets the tricorder.

When he gets back Jim is as white as a sheet and looks ready to keel over any second. McCoy curses under his breath.

“Lie down before you fall down,” he admonishes and uses a slight pressure on Jim’s shoulder to make him comply. Jim doesn’t utter a word when McCoy bends his left arm to take a closer look. He cringes inwardly when he sees the burnt skin on the underside of Jim’s forearm, partly hidden by equally burnt parts of Jim’s shirts. Most of the burns are first degree, but some of them look like more severe second degree burns.

“I’m gonna give you something for the pain,” he says and wonders why Jim hasn’t complained about it before. It must hurt like hell. Jim just nods, but tenses when McCoy gets the hypospray near his neck. “Hey,” McCoy rubs Jim’s shoulder in slow circles, “its okay, and it’s just a hypospray.” Jim finally relaxes, but McCoy can see how much effort he has to put into it.

He files this piece of information away in the growing folder of things concerning Jim he doesn’t understand. Maybe some day, when they’re both a bit more at home at the Academy, have spent more time together, Jim will let him in on these mysteries. He chooses not to ponder when or why he started to be intrigued enough by Jim to want to know them.

McCoy presses the hypospray against Jim’s neck and starts to work on his arm. It takes some time and finesse to peel the burnt cloth away and clean Jim’s wounds sufficiently, so he can use the dermal generator.

Jim still hasn’t said a word and it starts to unnerve McCoy. As far as he knows Jim is only still when he’s asleep.

“Hey, Jim,” he starts when he sweeps the generator over the damaged skin, but he doesn’t get any further, because suddenly Jim bends to the other side of the bed and throws up on the floor. McCoy is too surprised to even swear when he leaps to his feet.

“Sorry,” Jim mumbles and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“What? No … Jim, it’s okay.” He goes over to a cabinet to get another hypospray. “That’s the shock. I will give you some - “

“No, no more meds.”

McCoy turns around. “But … Jim … “

“No.” Jim tries to smile, but fails miserably. “I just don’t like … drugs,” he admits quietly and McCoy puts the hypospray back in its place and swallows. So the pain had had to be really difficult to bear, otherwise Jim would have never let him administer the hypospray.

“Okay,” he slowly says. “But let me get you at least a glass of water and clean the floor, okay?” He doesn’t wait for Jim’s answer, just gives him a glass to get rid of the taste in his mouth and quietly wipes the floor clean. It wouldn’t be fair to ask a nurse or some other member of the staff to do this.

McCoy has the feeling he screwed this up and he doesn’t even know exactly what or how. It’s just this gnawing feeling in his gut and he tries his best to ignore it while he works with the dermal generator on Jim. When he’s finally finished, Jim’s asleep. McCoy can’t help but to sweep a stray lock of Jim’s hair from his forehead.

“One day,” he murmurs, and then goes to sleep in the bed next to Jim’s. It’s been a long night.

 _  
**Day 18**   
_

Before McCoy can even really compute it, Jim hops off his bed, waves at McCoy and is gone. He didn’t let himself be checked over one last time and McCoy sighs. He can’t say he expected anything different.

But still … Jim is a mystery to him and he doesn’t like that feeling. He’s starting to get that itch, the one that is so familiar to him, the one he gets whenever he encounters an unknown disease or some virus no one has ever seen before. Not that he compares Jim to a virus or anything. Well, when he thinks about it, Jim has kind of infected him and it’s not likely that McCoy is getting rid of him in the near future. Not that he would want that, if he’s honest.

McCoy’s mind slowly begins to formulate a plan when he gets up, with far less enthusiasm than Jim, and how the heck did that boy have the energy to be up and around so early after nearly having burnt his arm of the night before?

McCoy rubs his forehead and tries to clear the last cobwebs from his thought process. Unfortunately his conscience catches up with his plan as soon as he’s really awake, and it doesn’t like what he’s planned.

“Shut up,” he mutters to the empty room and sits down in front of a computer terminal. It’s not like he’s doing this to hurt Jim, he’s doing it for … medical reasons, that’s it.

“Computer, show me the file of James T. Kirk. Medical Authorization: McCoyBeta3Gamma7C.” The computer obeys his command and ignores the silent screams of McCoy’s conscience that he’s betraying his … whatever Jim is.

 _James Tiberius Kirk, born 2233.0.4, Medical Shuttle 37 of the_ Kelvin _, space_ , McCoy reads and his brain needs a minute to understand what he’s reading.

Kelvin, Kirk, Kelvin, Kirk … _oh_ , McCoy thinks. And then, _Damn it, Jim_. And then he curses at himself, because of course he knows about the _Kelvin_ and the hero George Kirk and that tragic story that he never got to see his newborn son, he just never connected it to Jim, _his_ Jim.

McCoy leans back in his chair and has no idea what to do now, so he just reads on. There are several links to sealed files he can’t access and he’s not sure he even wants to know, but he bet they would go a great length to help him understand Jim better.

He scrolls further down and when he reads the results of Jim’s aptitude test for Starfleet he has to blink twice to make sure he saw that right. Whoa, no wonder Starfleet took Jim even with his attitude. There’s also a note attached to it that has Captain Pike’s personal statement he is volunteering to be Jim’s Academic Advisor. McCoy has met this guy only once, but he likes his straightforward way, and he’s sure if anybody can reign in Jim than it’s the Captain.

The shuffling of a nurse behind him snatches him from his pondering and he closes the file. Whatever else there is to learn about Jim – and he bets there is a lot – he is going to wait for the man himself to tell him.

 _  
**Day 19**   
_

“Did you see this?”

Jim waves a paper in front of McCoy’s face. It’s green and crumply and looks like a handout. To McCoy it looks pretty boring and Jim is way, _way_ too excited about it. He clears his throat and tries to meet Jim’s eyes. It’s kind of weird, seeing him now and wondering how he could ever not know who he is. Now that he knows the resemblance is startling obvious. Jim is like a mirror image of the man who’s already a legend.

“What’s that?” He asks without actually wanting to know. “Make it short, because we’ve still got this assessment to do and …”

“Who cares about the assessment? This is about the Kobayashi Maru, man!” Jim points enthusiastically at the paper. “It says even freshmen can apply and the next tryout is jsut after New Year. We gotta do this!”

McCoy blinks. “What’s the Kobayashi Maru?”

Jim stops and stares at him. “You’re joking, right?”

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

“It’s like … it’s a legend! It’s famous! A test that you can’t pass. Nobody ever passes this test. You got this? Nobody! Never. Not once. In the history of Starfleet.”

Now it’s McCoy’s turn to stare. Why does Jim keep making no sense? He starts to suspect it’s on purpose. “That’s … great. Congratulations. Why the hell would you want to fail a test?”

Jim makes a face that’s all ‘ _duh_!’. “Because I won’t fail. And I need you to do it.”

McCoy sighs, because he’s really tired and cranky and he still feels guilty about spying on Jim and they really, _really_ have to do the damn assessment now. “Okay, Jim. Whatever. Sure. Sign me in. Why not?”

Jim beams. “Awesome!”

This is so going to come back to bite him in the ass. He knows it. Weirdly he doesn’t even care. He looks after Jim who is already on his way (to sign them up probably) and something makes his stomach clench. When he slowly wanders back to the dorm his mind is filled with images of the exploding _Kelvin_ and he shudders.

 _  
**Day 20**   
_

Jim comes back from his Xenolinguistic Club meeting and McCoy has to admit he’s a little bit curious himself – not that he’d ever admit that, no … but he might have to, since Jim’s been back (and when did back started to mean McCoy’s dorm?) for over an hour and went straight to his Interstellar Diplomatic 101 assignment.

“So?” McCoy starts when his curiosity gets the better of him.

“So what?” Jim asks and raises his head from his pad.

“Uhura?”

Jim sighs and shrugs. “Nothing. But you’re hereby cordially invited to attend the Xenolinguistic Club’s annual bake sale.”

“You have to bake?”

“At least it’s not cooking.” Jim looks sheepishly at him.

“You have no idea of how to bake. How could you say _yes_ to this?”

“Well,” Jim looks just right over McCoy’s left shoulder and he gets a really bad feeling, “would you accept if I hereby cordially invite you to show me how to bake? You told me about that famous chocolate-lemon cake of your grandma’s and how it is an excellent choice for bribery.”

“That was my grandma’s cake! Not mine! And that story wasn’t even true!”

But now Jim looks directly into his eyes and McCoy knows when he’s defeated. He hangs his head. “I’ll go look for the recipe.”

“Thanks!” Jim exclaims happily.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Day 21_ **

McCoy doesn’t bake. He just doesn’t do baking. He had never expected Jocelyn to bake either, because he knows what a drag it is. Not that Jocelyn had ever showed an interest in being a housewife or doing domestic things in general (“ _That’s just so twentieth century, Leonard …_ ”). So he finds it kind of disconcerting to see how much effort and commitment Jim puts into this repulsive act.

“We need to weigh it!” He insists.

“Here it says ‘a _pinch_ ’. Just …” McCoy makes a vague motion with his hand, “… just sprinkle some of the stuff on it.”

Jim chews on his bottom lip. “Yes, but how much is a pinch? Can’t we do some research? Just to make sure?”

What the hell? _Research_? McCoy is so close to tell him not be a big baby about it, but Jim’s eyes are wide and blue and look so incredibly earnest that he find himself unable to do it. He sighs, resigned. “Okay. Whatever. I’ll look into it.”

Jim grins enthusiastically and pats him on the shoulder. “Thanks, Bones!”

Maybe he shouldn’t have been so surprised. Jim does everything he does with maximal effort and a hundred percent dedication. That much he knows.

They screw it up. Their first version of the cake is a flat, black … thing.

“I’m not sure it’s supposed to look like that,” Jim murmurs as he inspects the smoky briquette in front of him.

“I guess not,” McCoy sighs, feeling fed up with baking already. Whoever said Twentieth-century housewives had it easy was a bad, bad liar. “Look Jim, I really need to get my science assessment done and maybe we should just …”

Jim’s lower lip trembles suspiciously while he tries to act nonchalant (and fails). “Yeah sure,” he manages. “Go ahead. I wouldn’t want to waste your time.”

And this? This is just plain mean.

McCoy rolls his eyes and massages his throbbing temples. “For heaven’s sake. Alright, alright. Let’s give it one more try,” he grumbles.

Jim beams. “Awesome!”

Of course the second time around Jim is even more dedicated (some might call it obsessed) and puts even more effort into everything. Secretly McCoy is glad that he decided to stay ( _decided_ , ok? Not got persuaded) because in his over eagerness Jim is even more careless and accident-prone than usual. After the third time he almost cuts his hand, McCoy sighs, takes the knife from him and starts to cut the ingredients himself.

“Not going to take you to the hospital again,” he grumbles under his breath. “Not today.”

Jim hears it anyway, if his smile is anything to go by.

Of course that doesn’t stop him from meddling. “Stop! Bones, wait! That’s too much chocolate.”

“There’s such a thing as too much chocolate to you?” He raises a skeptic eyebrow. “Am I still talking to Mr. ‘ _Yes, there has to be extra chocolate on my Triple-Choco-Shock ice cream_ ’?”

Jim hesitates, clearly torn between ‘ _doing it right_ ’ and ‘ _creating the sweetest cake in the existence of mankind_ ’. “Well … no,” he finally answers, throwing a wistful look at the dark powder in McCoy’s hand. “But other people need to eat this too, right? And they need to like it. I just … don’t want to mess it up.”

There’s something else in his voice, something insecure and vulnerable that makes it clear as crystal what he really means.

 _They won’t like me if I mess this up._

And somewhere deep down McCoy wonders how and when and _why_ Jim ever started to think that way.

“Okay,” he finally says, sounding softer than intended. “We’re doing it right. It’s gonna be the best damn cake those fuckers have ever eaten.”

And the beaming grin Jim sends his way totally doesn’t make him feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

 _**Day 22** _

They don’t mess up the cake. In fact, McCoy thinks, it’s really the best damn cake the Xenolinguistic Club has ever seen. Not too much chocolate, not too little lemon. The cake is just perfect. Even Uhura is impressed with their effort – they still don’t get to know her first name.  
 ** _  
Day 23_**

He has a headache. One of the bad ones. One of these kinds where even a hypospray can’t work its magic. It doesn’t help that Jim comes bouncing into his room after his classes, loudly announcing that he’s gonna spend the night with one fine lady called _Virginia_ of all names. McCoy tries to snort, but that makes his head hurt even more and he groans into his pillow.

Jim finally stops babbling about his newest fancy. “Bones, you okay?”

McCoy rolls his eyes, but that hurts as well. “Go away.”

“Are you sick?” Jim leans over him and McCoy closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to see the worry in Jim’s eyes. He doesn’t _need_ the worry. “You’re a doctor! How can you be sick?” Come to think of it, McCoy doesn’t need the idiocy either.

“Go. Away. Now.” He still hasn’t opened his eyes.

Jim thankfully backs away. “Do you need anything?”

“For you to shut up,” he groans.

“Okay … but ... you know … call me? If you need anything?”

McCoy hears the door closing and he withstands the urge to roll his eyes again. As if he’d ever ask Jim for a favor.

 _**Day 24** _

Jim’s last course today is _Tactical Analysis_ which McCoy didn’t take for a damn good reason. It’s one of those courses with lots of annoying drivel and needless discussion and no simple answers. Ever. Thank you very much, but he prefers his facts and neat slivers of Vulcan liver on a plate.

He’s not really surprised when Jim doesn’t show up afterwards. There’s probably a lot of heated talking going on and Jim is one of those persons who has an opinion about absolutely everything.

When Jim still hasn’t shown up after diner, he tells himself he’s actually glad for an evening of peace and quiet. Ever since Jim is around he hasn’t time to read a few books or to clean his room, things that desperately need to be done. In the end he does neither.

As he finally hears somebody knocking on the door it’s almost midnight. Not that he’s staring at his clock or anything.

“Dude, some people are trying to sleep …” his words die on his lips as he catches sight of Jim. One of his eyes is almost swollen shut and his lips are bleeding. The worst thing is the look on his face though. His eyes are dark and he looks tired, defeated and completely miserable.

“What happened?” He asks sharply.

Jim shakes his head. He licks his lower lip and winces. “Nothing.” His voice is rough. “I just … you got an ice bag or something?”

“Nothing?” McCoy snarls as he draws him inside. “Yeah sure, it looks just like a fat bit of nothing to me.”

He raises his hand and feels his stomach clench as Jim flinches almost unnoticeably. Carefully he probes the swollen area around his eye, trying to gauge the damage.

“Sit down,” he orders. “Are you hurt anywhere else? Ribs? Stomach?”

Jim stubbornly shakes his head, but McCoy checks it anyway just to make sure. “I keep telling them ‘ _not the face_ ’, you know?” Jim says eventually, trying for casual and failing miserably. “But obviously they can’t stand me being so pretty. Makes them all hot and bothered.”

McCoy wants to ask, he want to bug Jim until he spits out the truth. But he knows this is the only thing he’s going to get out of him, smart-ass remarks and hot air. So he doesn’t ask again and Jim doesn’t offer an explanation.

But he allows Bones to take care of him, and at least that’s something.

 _**Day 25** _

“Do you know about my dad?” Jim’s voice is quiet, almost inaudible in the current noise, and it takes him a moment to comprehend the question. And when he does, he’s not sure he actually understands it.

“Yes,” McCoy answers carefully, not really sure which questions he just confirmed. _Yes, I know who your father was? Yes, I know that he is dead? Yes, I know that he’s a hero? Yes, I know that everybody and their dog are comparing you to him? Yes, I know you hate it?_

Jim nods. “Okay.” The tense line of his shoulders slumps a little, he looks almost relieved. McCoy is watching him from the corner of his eyes, trying to search for … something.

Jim looks like a rowdy right now, wild and unruly. His left eye is about to turn from purple to dark blue and his cheeks are bruised. He wears his leather jacket like a shield. He’s been fidgety the whole evening, and he drinks too much and too fast. Maybe it’s about yesterday. Maybe it’s about his father, who’s a dead hero. And maybe it’s about both.

Jim beckons to the bartender. “Can we get another drink?” He asks, his fingers drumming on the counter. To McCoy he says: “Let’s get wasted.”

“Are you okay?” It’s a pointless question, but he asks anyway.

Jim shrugs. “Depends. Are you going to carry my sorry ass back to the dorms?”

McCoy sighs and rolls his eyes. “You know I will.”

Jim smiles. It’s small and vulnerable looking in his bruised face, but it’s an actual smile. “Then I’m okay.”

And that’s as good an answer as anything.

 _**Day 26** _

A glance at his watch tells McCoy that its past midnight, and he decides that enough is enough.

“Come on, you’ve got enough,” he tells Jim. Jim just blinks slowly at him, all this restless energy from earlier gone, and nods. Somehow McCoy had expected a lot more arguing, but Jim just looks tired and contemplative and it makes McCoy uneasy. Jim is not supposed to be the broody one of them.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

They get up, Jim goes to the bar and pays, and then they’re outside. The cold night air does wonders to Jim’s level of consciousness it seems, because a hand on McCoy’s shoulder stops him from going any further.

“What?” He growls. Contrary to Jim, who looks now more alert than he did half of the night, McCoy is really tired and has a full day of a _Chemistry_ class ahead of him.

“Wait just a second, okay?”

Before McCoy can even reply, Jim has vanished in the bar again. McCoy mutters some curses under his breath and they get louder when Jim reappears, in his arm a barely conscious redhead McCoy recognizes from their _Basic Warp Design_ class.

“What the hell?” He growls. “I’m not helping you with your _romantic_ endeavors!”

“Bones!” Jim’s voice wavers somewhere between dismay and amusement. “Some guys wanted to chat her up. I just got her out before they could take her to one of their definition of a _romantic_ endeavor. Isn’t that right, Mary?”

“I may throw up on you,” is all she has to say, sagging even more against Jim, who starts to have trouble keeping her up.

McCoy still grumbles, but he helps sling Mary’s other arm over his shoulder.

 _**Day 27** _

He has lunch with two of his fellow students during a break in their Chemistry class when he realizes they’re a bunch of complete idiots he really doesn’t want to know. Well, of course they are idiots, most of them are at least half a decade younger than him and he just hopes for them that they will grow some more brain cells really soon.

“So, Peters said he saw Mary leaving with that slut Kirk yesterday,” Kalint begins out of nowhere after they’ve all sat down with their trays. McCoy nearly spills his water, but Kalint doesn’t notice it.

“I can’t believe he’s still enrolled,” Rooter complains. “He’s nothing but a pretty face.”

“Yeaaah,” Kalint draws the word out like gum and leans back in his chair. “I bet he’s only here because of that.”

McCoy can’t believe what he’s hearing and he really, _really_ hopes that Kalint isn’t implying what he thinks he is. “Excuse me? What exactly do you mean by that?” He asks and tries his best to control the rage in his voice.

Kalint looks at him, kind of surprised to see the scowl on his face. “Well, you know … Captain Pike? He recruited him _personally_ , if you get my drift. Kirk didn’t even have to apply like the rest of us. He just got a free pass.”

McCoy actually laughs at that. As if anything in Jim’s life he’s seen so far could be described as a _free pass_. Kalint and Rooter look at him, bewildered.

“You okay, man?” Rooter asks and McCoy has enough.

“Fuck you,” he bellows and they actually flinch. “Jim is here because his aptitude test result is higher than yours, combined together, you assholes.” He stands up and ignores their open-mouthed stares at him. “And just for your information, he got Mary out of that bar so none of you morons and your friends could take advantage of her. And we just brought her home like any _decent_ man would do.”

They still stare at him when he leaves the cafeteria, but he couldn’t care less.

 _**Day 28** _

“Okay, can you explain to me one more time why you invited me to lunch? Not that I complain, but usually you hit me when I ask if you want to act like a southern gentleman …”

“Just shut up and eat, Jim,” McCoy says, but with a smile in his voice. Jim picks up on it and smiles one of his big, all teeth-smiles back at him.

A few seconds later Jim is so occupied devouring his chocolate cake that he doesn’t notice McCoy scowling in the direction of Rooter and Kalint who are sitting across the room.

 _**Day 29** _

“Sooooooooooooooooo,” Jim says upon entering McCoy’s room, bringing a pad with him, and McCoy puts his own padd down. Nothing good can come out of a sentence starting like this and he really doesn’t want to ask.

“What?” But of course he does it anyway.

“I just had a conversation with Mary … you remember her, Bones?”

“Of course,” McCoy rolls his eyes. “Did she invite you to _Thank you_ -sex?”

Jim tilts his head as if in serious contemplation. “Nope, would kind of defeat the purpose of saving her from people like me in the first place, don’t you think?”

“You’re nothing like this,” McCoy grits out, remembering Kalint and Rooter.

“Aaaw.” Jim has the audacity to pat him on the shoulder and McCoy scowls at him. “That’s nice … so, tell me, Bones. Had lunch with some of your chemistry buddies recently?” Jim asks nonchalantly, the only thing betraying his cool the way he nervously tips random buttons on his pad.

“What?” McCoy swears he feels his stomach drop at least a meter. “Mary heard us?”

“Only you. Made quite the impression on her, you striding out of the room like a righteous knight.”

“I’m no righteous knight and you’re nothing like these bastards pictured you.”

“Bones,” Jim suddenly gets serious. “It’s okay.”

“No!” He shouts and stands up, hands balled to fists in anger. “It’s not okay,” and now he’s pointing at Jim who just looks confused, as if he doesn’t get the concept of people standing up for each other, for him. “They had no right to say this shit about you. It’s not true.”

“But they’re your friends, Bones.”

“What? In what universe would I want to be friends with a bunch of morons who talk only trash about you?”

“But – “

“No buts! And now sit down; don’t you have this interstellar cartography assignment due tomorrow? Have you even started yet? Unbelievable, I bet you will ace it nevertheless, just don’t wake me when you work through the night, okay?”

Jim hesitates for a second. “Okay.”

 _**Day 30** _

“Hey Bones, what’s taking you so long? Don’t you remember the strippers and beer-night you promised me again last wee - …” Jim pauses mid-sentence and stops halfway through the door. “Uhm … is this a bad time?” he asks belatedly, sounding more curious than apologetical.

Bones shakes his head in ‘ _no_ ’ and continues pacing up and down. He’s holding a communicator in one hand; the other is curled to a fist. He’s tense and feels queasy, just the way he feels when he sits inside a shuttle. Jocelyn is talking to him for half an hour now and she fires question after question so fast that his head is starting to spin.

“Look …,” he tries. “Jocelyn.” He sighs and runs his finger through his hair. He turns around. “You know, that’s not …”

It’s to no avail.

It’s a little bit sad and all kinds of ironic, because it used to be one of the things he adored about her. Her fierceness, her temper, her sharp tongue, the way she could outtalk people. Now it’s part of the things he hates the most, apart from the fact that she took everything from him. She never gives him room to talk anymore, let alone to think, to set things straight.

“Bones …,” Jim says, sounding oddly soft, and McCoy can’t help but look at him. “I can wait outside if you’d rather …?”

“No. Jim, no.” He shakes his head and takes a deep breath.

“What the hell?” Jocelyn asks, sounding affronted. “Are you _still_ at work?”

“I’m not …”

“Why do I even bother to ask? Of course you are. Dear God, Leonard. At least tell your patients to wait outside when you talk to someone. Geez.”

And this is kind of the last straw, not the fact that she still thinks he’s an obsessed workaholic with no life and social contacts whatsoever, but the fact that she assumes she’s more important to him than beer and strippers and _Jim_. Not particularly in that order. Because she’s not.

“Look, I really can’t talk right now”, he snarls, feeling angry and satisfied and in control at the same time. “I’ll call you back. And Jim is not a patient, he’s my friend,” he adds, emphasizes the last part.

“Friend,” she repeats slowly as if he’s talking Klingon. “And what’s that supposed to mean? Are you serious?”

And hell if he knows. His brain feels kind of frozen. He hasn’t even realized that it had changed somehow. And even now he can’t pinpoint an exact moment or a date where Jim had turned from ‘ _annoying brat who steals my food_ ’ to ‘ _friend_ ’. The only thing he knows is that somewhere along the way he has gotten so used to Jim’s company that it almost feels like he’s missing something when Jim’s not there.

“Yes”, he answers, still not looking at Jim. “Yes, I’m serious. He’s my friend, and he and I are going for strippers and beer now. Have a lovely evening.” He hangs up before she even has the chance to reply and damn, it feels good. He feels an awkward little half-smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “What …” He clears his throat. “What did you say about strippers and beers?” He turns around when there’s no reply. “Jim?” he asks.

Jim is staring at him. He is eerily quiet, which is kind of awkward and more than a little unusual, because Jim is not even quiet _when_ he’s quiet. Usually he’s constantly in motion and he always does little things like humming, bouncing or tapping with his fingers. Just not right now.

“Jim? What?” McCoy repeats and starts to feel a little uncomfortable. Is it something he said?

“Nothing.” Jim seems to awaken from his stupor and shakes his head. Suddenly he’s grinning at him, all bright and warm and happy and McCoy feels something soft and fuzzy unfurling inside his stomach.

Jim stands up and stretches. He pats him on the shoulder as he walks by and if his hand lingers a little too long … well, McCoy chooses not to comment on it. “’S nothing really. Let’s go.”

 _**Day 31** _

Some days are just bad. For example, today.

His eight-hour hour shift has unexpectedly turned into a thirteen-hour shift. An accident in engineering has caused a lot of smoke and panic and a lot of injured students. Nothing really serious, mostly smoke inhalations, bruises, fractures and minor head wounds, but it’s just so many of them that it takes hours and countless medical staff until everyone is taken care of.

McCoy misses two evening-classes and he skips lunch and dinner, but it needs to be done. He curses a lot during the day, but deep down he knows he wouldn’t go before the last of his patients is taken care of, even if he had a choice. It’s just not who he is.

When he arrives at his dorm it’s almost 10 pm and he can’t decide if he’s more starved or more exhausted. Sleep and food both sound incredibly appealing right now.

He stops dead in his tracks when he reaches his room.

Jim sits in front of his door on the floor. His eyes are closed and his head rests against the door frame in an angle that looks unnatural and painful. What the hell …?! McCoy’s eyes widen. Oh shit … damn it.

“Jim.” He crouches down beside him and gently touches his shoulder. “Jim, wake up.” Impossible long eyelashes flutter and Jim makes a small tired noise.

“…Bones?”

“Why the hell are you sitting on the floor?” He’s really sorry, and being genuinely sorry somehow always translates in sounding grumpy and annoyed.

“Huh.” Jim startles and looks around himself as if he doesn’t even know where he is. The kid really needs more sleep. He looks confused. “I … didn’t we have a date? I thought we had. I was waiting for you and I just got tired, I guess.” He sounds apologetically, as if he’s the one who completely forgot about their appointment for dinner and homework.

If possible, McCoy feels even worse now. “Why didn’t you wait inside for me?” He barks without thinking.

“Because … I don’t have the security code?”

That’s true. Somehow it’s still unexpected. Then again he doesn’t know why he’s so surprised. Of course Jim doesn’t have the security code, because he never told him.

“It’s okay though. Couldn’t go to my room anyway,” Jim admits. “Steve is hosting one of those parties again and locked me out.” He rubs his eyes and yawns.

“There was an accident in engineering,” McCoy hears himself say. “I got caught up in work and I completely forgot.” It’s as close to an apology as he ever gets.

Jim frowns worriedly. “Is everybody okay?”

“Don’t worry, it’s just minor injuries. Just a lot of students. We’ve got it all under control.”

Jim’s eyes go unexpectedly soft. “You must be tired.”

As if that is the problem and not the fact that Jim has been locked out from the only two places he could stay.

“Yeah well, you don’t look so fresh yourself,” McCoy replies. He stands up and offers Jim his hand. “How about we skip learning, order some pizza and doze off on the couch?”

Jim beams. “Best idea I’ve heard all day!”

And McCoy thinks some days are not so bad, no matter how they start.

 _**Day 32** _

McCoy has now idea why he does it, well, he does have an idea, but still ... He can’t be serious, can he? And it’s not like he’s responsible for the kid and has to offer him a place to stay or so. And he doesn’t feel guilty for last night, he doesn’t. It’s probably just because he’s an old sentimental fool and somebody short-circuited all his higher brain functions or some benevolent alien took over his body and decided that he still needs to do his three good deeds like the little Boy Scout he never was.

Anyway, Jim Kirk is sitting opposite him in McCoy’s dorm, reading some book on guidelines for first contacts, when McCoy starts talking and can’t stop in time.

“My security code is 74219Alpha3.”

“Excuse me?” Jim looks puzzled and McCoy wants to hit the nearest wall head first. This is such a bad idea.

“The code. To my dorm,” he says instead.

“You’re giving me the code to your room?” Jim still looks perplexed.

“Are you deaf?”

“Are you _you_?”

McCoy sighs. “Fair enough.”

Silence stretches between them until Jim breaks it. “So, 74219Alpha3 it is?”

“Your memory is unbelievable.” McCoy rolls his eyes.

Jim just grins at him and starts reading again.

Some time later, McCoy is absorbed in paperwork about his latest patients, when he hears Jim say a quiet “Thank you”. Against his will McCoy has to smile.

 _**Day 33** _

Thing is, with Jim having the security code he can walk in on McCoy all the time. He should have thought about that, but when it comes to Jim Kirk McCoy isn’t really good with the whole thinking thing. Must be Jim’s “leap without looking” attitude rubbing off on him.

So McCoy is lying on his bed, his eyes closed and enthralled by the music of Beethoven’s 9th symphony – that’s music they just don’t compose anymore – and only notices Jim’s arrival when the mattress dips on one side.

He expects some snide remark about old-fashioned music for an old guy, but instead Jim keeps silent, somehow maneuvers around McCoy and leans against the headboard.

 **_Day 34_ **

“I’m hungry.”

McCoy doesn’t bother to answer the whiny voice. He’s a doctor, not a nanny.

“Booooooooooooones.”

McCoy has to blink twice, before he realizes that Jim actually poked him in the side. He groans. “What?”

“I’m hungry!”

McCoy looks disbelieving at the grown-up man, whishing him to mature _right now_. When he realizes this probably won’t happen any time soon, he sighs and points at the kitchen. “There has to be some yoghurt left in the fridge.”

Jim beams at him and before McCoy can growl, Jim is on his way.

 **_Day 35_ **

Jim doesn’t even bother to greet him, but strides straight into the small kitchen, bends down to the fridge and retrieves a yoghurt. Then he slumps down on McCoy’s couch.

“So, how was your day?” He asks, a spoonful of McCoy’s food in his mouth.  
 _ **  
Day 36**_

 _One, two, three_ , McCoy counts in his head from the moment Jim enters his dorm. _Four, five –_

“Bones!”

He looks up from his pad. “What?”

“Where’s my yoghurt?”

McCoy takes a breath and leans back against his chair. “Oh, you mean _my_ yoghurt? The one you have eaten the last two days, so that I didn’t have any left?”

Jim swallows and has the decency to look halfway ashamed. Of course that has the half-life of beryllium. “Yes,” he says, slumping once again down on the couch. “When do you buy some more?”

“When do I … “McCoy can only stare, then he explodes. “ _God damnit_ , Jim! I’m a doctor, not your mother!”

Jim flinches and for the briefest moment McCoy can see some kind of old hurt in his eyes and great, now he feels like an asshole.

Jim coughs and straightens and the moment is gone as soon as that. “I’m sorry,” he says and excuses himself.

For a few minutes McCoy stays seated, wondering how he could have possibly fucked this up. He had the right on his side, for fuck’s sake! But that’s Jim for you, right down to the core.

McCoy had it all planned out. Getting through the academy on a mix of misery and alcohol and then Jim _happy-go-lucky_ Kirk came striding into his life, not caring for his careful laid plans, but instead he had sobered him up and made him actually _want_ to learn new stuff and excel in his profession.

And now McCoy has somehow managed to hurt the kid. He sighs and gets up. Time to buy some more yoghurt.

 **_Day 37_ **

McCoy is just done with showering when he hears Jim entering his dorm. He sighs in relief and wonders once again when he started to actually look forward to Jim’s company. He must be getting senile.

“Hey, Bones!” Jim smiles at him when he leaves the bathroom toweling his hair. “Look what I brought!”

McCoy looks and raises his eyebrow in question. “What’s that?”

“Jello!” Jim looks at him like any three-year old would have known it and opens the door of the fridge. “Oh, you got yoghurt!”

“Yeah … eh – “He tries to find the right words, but turns out he doesn’t need to.

“Cool,” is all Jim says and smiles while he stows the jello away. When he’s done, he stands up and is still showing all his teeth. “Don’t eat the red jello, okay? I love it, and I bought you green.” Jim holds green jello out to him, waiting expectantly.

“Okay,” McCoy says stunned, takes the jello, and then they sit next to each other down on the couch, eating it.

 _**Day 38** _

“What have you been doing?” McCoy asks as soon as Jim has entered his dorm and let himself fall down onto the couch next to the doctor.

“Huh?”

“You stink. And you’re getting my couch all wet!”

“Whoa, love you, too.”

“No, seriously,” McCoy points at Jim’s wet face, “you’re drenched to the bone and you stink.”

“I’ve been running,” Jim explains, as if it’s the most normal thing to go running during a downpour.

“It’s raining cats and dogs.”

“Your point?” Jim looks at him and really doesn’t seem to understand McCoy’s problem.

“Go, get a shower. I don’t wanna treat you for pneumonia,” McCoy says and points at his bathroom door. Jim blinks at him.

“You’re letting me use your shower?”

“Well, you’re here and you’re wet. I’m not a monster.” He pushes Jim off the couch and smirks at him. “Just don’t use all the hot water.”

Jim smiles back at him before he vanishes into the bathroom.

 _**Day 39** _

“Bones! Just the man I was looking for!” McCoy resists the urge to drop his books and run away in the other direction when Jim intercepts him on the way to his room. This tone in his friend’s voice never bodes anything particularly good.

“No,” is McCoy’s natural reaction to Jim’s enthusiastic smile, which doesn’t falter the slightest bit at McCoy’s rebuff. Instead Jim slings one arm around McCoy’s shoulders and steers him in the opposite direction to his room. McCoy has no idea why his feet decide to obey Jim’s command.

“Jim … no … I don’t want to … “He looks at his still grinning friend from the side when they walk outside the dorm. It’s only then that he stops. “What exactly is it that I don’t want to do?”

“Oh, _now_ you decide to ask?” Jim smirks.

“Just tell me!”

“Football!”

“What?” McCoy raises his right eyebrow.

“Aw, come on!” Jim points at the sky. “It’s a beautiful day! Perfect blue sky, a soft breeze whispering in the trees,” now he spreads his arms and McCoy thinks he’s just on this side of looking ridiculous, “beautiful women in short skirts. What more can you want?”

“Peace and quiet and for you to grow up? Haven’t you played enough football in college?”

Jim stares at him for a second, looking as if that’s a hilarious assumption. “I’ve never set foot inside a college.”

Now it’s McCoy’s turn to stare, but he gets sidetracked when Jim starts grinning again and breaks out into a sprint across the lawn.

“Come on! Last one on the field has to pay for the beer tonight!” he yells over his shoulder and despite himself McCoy starts to run after him, smiling widely and enjoying the way the sun warms him from the inside.

Jim is right, it’s a beautiful day.

 **_Day 40_ **

The sky is pitch-black when McCoy comes back from his double shift at the hospital. He feels exhausted and is contemplating skipping dinner and just to fall face-first on his bed, when he smells it. He follows the delicious odor to the kitchen counter, where he sees the still steaming plate and a note next to it.

“You’re a doctor, not a skeleton. Enjoy the meal and don’t wait for me, Cheryl said I’ve got to help her _study_!” It says in Jim’s handwriting and McCoy gets this odd feeling in his belly, this feeling of belonging and being so important to someone that he gets self-made food instead of replicator-produced molecules. He didn’t know he’s missed it this much until now.

He sits down and pulls the plate up to him. Its mac and cheese, a little bit burnt around edges, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that Jim cooked for him, even though one of the first things about him that McCoy learned was that Jim is well-skilled in convincing a replicator to get him something that’s not even in its program, but when it comes to things you store in the fridge he will settle for his beloved red jello.

Yet McCoy is fond of home-made dishes and Jim knows that. McCoy smiles one of his rare, encompassing smiles, and digs into the macs.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Day 41** _

He doesn’t know why he does that. Okay, he does know it. Nevertheless, it doesn’t really make sense. He’s not like this. He is not nice. Hell, most of the people he met at the Academy so far would call him a grumpy bastard, and it would be a pretty accurate description.

And yet he’s standing in his kitchen holding a measuring cup full of flour in his hand, trying to gauge if that’s the right amount. He’s tempted to hit the wall with his head, because this? Totally stupid idea. He doesn’t do baking. He doesn’t have the time for it either, since he has clinic duty in two hours and he hasn’t even started his essay on the guidelines for treating prisoners of war which is due in two days.

He thinks about all of this when he finally puts the batter into the cake pan and gets to the conclusion that it doesn’t matter. Jim likes this chocolate-lemon cake and even though he tried to hide it, he’s been worrying about this zoology exam tomorrow. And if McCoy can distract him for a while, then nothing’s wrong with that.

He waits till the cake is baked, then he sets it on the kitchen counter, hesitates for a second and lays an apple next to it before he leaves for the hospital.

 **_Day 42_ **

Everybody knows Jim.

It’s the kind of realization that’s not really a realization but something McCoy always knew somehow. When they walk across the campus, Jim is greeting people left and right, the girls smile and wave at him and guys say stuff like “Last night was a blast, man!”.

Jim smiles and nods and he knows everybody by name already, while McCoy still calls most of the nurses “nurse” and most of his fellow students “hey you”.

And still it’s weird somehow, watching Jim as he strolls through the crowded bar. Watching the way he interacts with everybody so easily and the way most people are instantly drawn to him.

Everybody knows Jim, and Jim knows everybody.

Sometimes McCoy wonders why Jim actually bothers with him. He’s nothing but a grumpy worn-out doctor with way too much baggage. But then he sees the way Jim’s eyes lighten as soon as he catches sight of him and the way his whole body seems to relax when he all but collapses on the chair next to him.

“My day sucked,” he admits, his easy-going smile instantly replaced by a worried frown. “I think I might have failed zoology. That would suck. You think I failed it?”

“No, you haven’t,” McCoy replies.

“I should’ve learned more. I know I should.” He sighs. “I suck at zoology.”

“Jim.”

“What?”

“You haven’t failed. I know it, okay?”

Jim smiles soft and grateful and takes a sip from McCoy’s beer without asking, just because he can, and McCoy can’t help but think that all these people who know Jim … they don’t really know him. They don’t know that Jim likes chocolate-lemon cake or that his way of saying thanks is to buy McCoy his next beer. These people don’t know that Jim’s trying to squeeze four years into three and has an insane work load. They don’t know that he’s plagued by self-doubts like everybody else and just doesn’t show it to anybody but McCoy. But at least Jim is not afraid to do that in front of him, and for that McCoy is really grateful.

 _**Day 43** _

He finds Jim at the jogging track at the athletic compound. Not that he had searched for him or anything. No, he was just in the vicinity and in a spur of the moment decided to check out what the Academy had to offer if he one day should have the urgent need to exercise.

He sits down on the tribune and watches Jim running one round after the other while the sun is setting down. It’s getting colder, the wind’s picking up even more, and McCoy starts to shiver, but he can’t get his legs to cooperate and carry him somewhere warm.

Jim and he are the only ones out here. Nobody else is so stupid to spend more time than needed outside in this harsh wind; nobody except Jim Kirk – and for some odd reason that means that McCoy also throws reason overboard and stays.

He watches Jim run and it seems like the other man isn’t even aware of what he’s doing. McCoy can’t pinpoint if he’s running to or away from something. Knowing Jim he’s probably trying to do both things at the same time.

After another ten minutes Jim finally spots McCoy watching him and jogs over.

“Bones, what are you doing here?” He asks, trying to stop the sweat getting into his eyes with his hand. “It’s freezing outside. You will catch a cold.”

“And you won’t?” McCoy replies and Jim gives him one of his crooked smiles.

“Naaah … survived worse,” he says with a wave of his hand and McCoy thinks back to those sealed files, wondering once again what secrets are hiding in them.

“Come on, I’ve got a hot shower waiting for you,” he grumbles and stands up. Jim slings an arm around his shoulder, McCoy wrinkles his nose but doesn’t say anything and together they brave the howling wind.

 _**Day 44** _

It turns out that of course McCoy was right. Jim passed that zoology exam with flying colors and if the tutor had used even more exclamation marks behind “ _Excellent_ ” McCoy thinks Jim’s head would explode from the sheer glee it gives him.

McCoy doesn’t say anything when he hears the news; he just claps Jim on the shoulder and gets the jello out of the fridge.

 _**Day 45** _

The door to his room opens and he doesn’t even look up from the report on the latest discoveries in virology.

“I’m using your shower. Training was a bitch today,” Jim yells over his shoulder and McCoy just waves absent-mindedly. He’s used to this by now, which doesn’t mean that he understands why Jim can’t shower in his own bathroom or in the showers next to the combat class hall.

Ten minutes later Jim steps into the room again, only clad in a towel and dripping all over McCoy’s carpet. McCoy only notices him when he speaks.

“I’m sorry to inform you, but you have really girly shower gel.”

“What?” McCoy raises his head, slightly confused. Then he sees Jim and his eyes widen. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Well”, Jim scratches his arm. “You obviously have shower gel with pink glitter in it.”

“Pink gli … god damnit, Jim!” McCoy rises from his chair and fumbles through the mess of papers and books that’s his desk in search for his tricorder. When he finally finds it he walks over to where Jim is still standing half-naked.

“Wait … what’s up with the tri – “

“Stand still!” McCoy barks and for once Kirk is following his orders. “You have an allergic reaction to my shower gel.”

“I have … “Jim frowns. “Naaah.” He shakes his head, but raises his arm and takes a closer look at it. “Huh.”

“Huh?” McCoy moves the tricorder around Jim.

“It’s really not glitter.”

“Oh, _please_.” Now McCoy is rolling his eyes. “You actually thought I’d use _pink glitter_ shower gel? Seriously?”

“Well … “Jim shrugs his shoulders. “Who am I to judge that?”

“Unbelievable. I should feel offended,” McCoy mutters and fetches a hypospray from his medkit, already being slightly annoyed by the mayhem which will follow this.

“Is that a hypospray?” Jim asks suspiciously and McCoy sighs.

“Yes, and I won’t hesitate to use it.”

”But I hate those things.”

“I know,” McCoy takes another step towards Jim, “but right now I don’t care. And it’s better than you having a full blown anaphylaxis.” He tilts his head. “Or do you prefer spending the rest of the evening scratching your skin?” Jim doesn’t say a thing, so McCoy takes that as a _No_ and presses the hypospray into Jim’s neck, who yelps – how unexpected.

 _**Day 46** _

They will never talk about it, but when Jim comes out of the bathroom after another shower McCoy sees the thankful look in his eyes. Seems like Jim isn’t allergic to the shower gel McCoy bought today.  
 _ **  
Day 47**_

The exam is in two days and McCoy isn’t flipping out. He’s not. Not at all. And anyone who says otherwise is a lying liar who lies.

It later turns out that Jim is one of these liars, but McCoy doesn’t know that yet when Jim enters and holds a suspicious looking package in his hands.

”What’s that?” McCoy asks him, a frown on his face.

“Oh,” Jim looks down at the package and smiles one of his ridiculously boyish smiles. “I always wanted one of these and they had a sale over at the toy store and – “

“Wait, you bought something at a _toy store_?”

“Well … “

“ _Toy store_ , my dear. Do I need to inform Starfleet that you’ve been lying about your birth date?” The moment it’s out of his mouth he knows he’s made a mistake.

Jim’s happy smile vanishes in an instant and McCoy sees a flash of real hurt, before it all gets concealed by a mask of distant casualness. Maybe McCoy should let Jim say something about his divorce being a consequence of him being impotent, but it probably wouldn’t even be equivalent.

“Jim, I’m – “

“No, it’s okay.” It’s not okay, because Jim won’t meet his eyes. “I can always build my Warp 5 engine in my room … where Steve can trample all over it and mock me.” He raises his eyes and McCoy doesn’t exactly like the look of suppressed anger he sees. Not when it’s directed at him.

“I’msorrypleasestay,” McCoy nearly stumbles over his words, he’s that fast, but if he doesn’t say anything Jim will be out through the door in less than five seconds. Actually, he’s already halfway there when McCoy stops to catch his breath.

“I don’t need your charity.”

“No, you don’t. That’s right, but I want to build that Warp engine.” And McCoy is absolutely not pleading … or sounding needy. “Hey, it could me help to understand that cursed stuff we need to know for our _Basic Warp Design_ exam in two days.”

When Jim turns around that charming smile is already in place again and McCoy breathes a sigh of relief.

Until the wee hours of the morning they sit on the floor, eat red and green jello respectively, and try to fit all the pieces of the model kit together. McCoy listens to Jim excitedly rambling on and on about all the details of the antimatter reaction assembly and the wonders of the dilithium articulation frame and everything else he never wanted to know about warp engines.

It’s only when they’re both half asleep, Jim somehow curled around himself on the couch that McCoy realizes he’s been played.

 _**Day 48** _

Like a lot of things, they don’t talk about it when they wake up.

Instead Jim eats the rest of the red jello. How he can stand that as a breakfast is beyond McCoy, but he doesn’t mention that either.

When McCoy had his breakfast – a healthy, nutritious breakfast - he sits at his desks and suddenly all the blueprints start to make sense.

 _**Day 49** _

McCoy nearly fails to get his exam done in time and that’s not because he can’t answer the questions. No, he knows the answers by heart, thank you very much. He just finds it very distracting that every time he reads something about the antimatter reaction assembly he has Jim’s excited face on his mind.  
 ** _  
Day 50_**

McCoy hates headaches. With a passion. But he should’ve known it would end like this. How else would a night going out drinking and celebrating the passing of the exam with flying colors with James T. Kirk end, but with a fierce hangover and the feeling as if ants crawled in his mouth and died?

“Sorry.” Jim actually sounds contrite – which doesn’t make the whole matter even remotely better. Not by a long shot. It also doesn’t help that his drinking buddy doesn’t seem to suffer from any ill effects due to their alcohol intake. “Here.” Something nudges his lips and McCoy’s best guess is that its water, but he can’t verify this, because he has yet to open his eyes.

“Bones?” Jim sounds worried now and a warm hand is stroking over McCoy’s face.

“Still in here,” he murmurs and the skin contact breaks. He tries not to look too disappointed when he opens his eyes and sees the relieved face of Jim.

“Good to know. Now come on, drink some water.” Reluctantly, because he’s a doctor, not an invalid, he lets Jim hoist him up and opens his mouth and takes some sips of water.

“Thanks,” he mumbles and Jim gently lets him down again. McCoy wants to say something, maybe even that he’s glad that Jim is at his side right now, but as soon as his head hits the pillow he’s out like a light.

 _**Day 51** _

His comm starts to chirp as soon as he’s through the door.

“Yes?” he answers it.

“Hi, is that …what did he say his name is, Johnson?” McCoy needs a moment to realize that whoever that is isn’t talking to him anymore. “Bones?” The voice is faint over the loudspeakers, as if the person bent her head away from the microphone. “That’s some ridiculous name, even for a human.” McCoy can still hear it nevertheless.

“Hey, it’s not ridiculous!” he argues with the intercom and rolls his eyes the next moment. Great, now he’s actually defending the nickname Jim insisted on branding him with to strangers.

“Oh, sorry … “The voice sounds like a song now and McCoy realizes he has one of his alien comrades on the speaker. “Anyway, this is Ria and … well, could you come to room 00.8? Like, now?”

“Well, I could, but why should I?” McCoy isn’t in the mood for some elaborate joke, not even from a woman with such a golden voice.

“It’s Kirk. He won’t let us take him to the hospital.” Now that and the realization that Jim should have finished his hand to hand combat class five minutes ago in exactly room 00.8 changes McCoy’s whole attitude.

“What is it?” he asks in his best growling tone.

“I’m not sure … what?” She stops for a few seconds and McCoy hears a male voice saying something. “Johnson thinks it’s a concussion, and a twisted ankle.”

McCoy doesn’t need to hear anymore. “I’ll be there in a sec.”

He needs a bit more than a second, but that’s not because of the lack of trying. He’s out of breath when he enters the room and instantly spots Jim slumped against the bare wall of the training room. A red-haired man is crouched down next to him and a woman with long hair whose color McCoy can’t really make out is standing over them both. “I’m an engineer, not a doctor, Johnson!” She is saying in the odd sing-song like voice of hers, when McCoy comes up behind her.

“But I am. What happened?” he asks and kneels down in front of Jim, who is looking over McCoy’s left shoulder when he starts to speak.

“Nothing.”

McCoy resists the urge to roll his eyes again, but focuses on the other two cadets in the room and raises a questioning eyebrow. “Care to elaborate?”

“Bent was on him again,” the guy, Johnson, starts to explain, and McCoy’s head flips up.

“What do you mean, _Bent was on him again_?” He’s careful about his tone, but he can’t help letting the anger seep in when he starts to realize what that could mean.

“S’nothing,” Jim tells him again and has the audacity to pat his arm and smile at him. Somehow it fails to elicit the right response from McCoy, who just growls which makes Johnson take a step back.

“Look, man, its hand to hand combat, we’re bound to get roughened up a bit.”

McCoy just glares at him. “Don’t you take sides with him.” He turns to Ria, who seems like a no-nonsense kinda girl and he thinks he will get the straight facts from here, not some bullshit about men being men. He’s not about to be disappointed.

“Bent is an asshole and he picked Kirk as his favorite object to teach us a lesson, because Kirk had him nearly on the floor the first week and has put on a decent fight ever since. Your friend should complain, I’d back him up.” She shots a glare at Johnson, who seems to shrink a little bit. “As will Johnson, I’m sure.” Her voice, although still sounding like an ancient music instrument, has taken on a threatening tone.

“Hey, ‘m still here,” Jim mumbles, but Ria ignores him and gives Johnson a challenging look.

“Whoa … oh, yeah. Sure,” Johnson gives in.

McCoy feels oddly touched at this show, even if partially forced, of solidarity. After all, Jim deserves more people caring for him than just one old grumpy doctor.

”Thanks, but I don’t think that will be necessary,” he says, although he wishes Jim would go for it. Yet he knows this guy a little bit by now and is sure that he won’t back down from a challenge like Bent, no matter what. “I’ll take it from here.” He flashes one of his rare smiles at Ria. “Thanks for all of your help.”

Ria nods and drags Johnson out of the room, when McCoy turns with a tricorder to his patient and sighs.

“Let’s see what we have here.”

 **Day 52**

Turns out Jim really has a concussion, albeit not a bad one, and twisted his ankle. McCoy had dragged him to the hospital for a check-up against Jim’s loud protest yesterday, just to be sure there wasn’t anything wrong with Jim’s head, apart from Jim being a reckless nut job who thinks too much about others and too little about himself and just won’t let McCoy go and fill a complaint about Bent.

“That’s ridiculous,” McCoy is saying once again to no one in particular, since Jim is currently curled up on the couch in McCoy’s quarters, sleeping. McCoy sees the goose bumps on his forearm and frowns. For all the time Jim is crashing on his couch McCoy really should have gotten him a blanket already, but for now one of his old sweaters he gets out of the closet has to be enough. Jim softly sighs under the grey made-up blanket and sinks deeper into sleep.

McCoy is glad that his friend finally gets the rest he needs, since Jim spent the morning throwing up and generally just looking so miserable that McCoy was tempted to take him straight back to the hospital, yet one barely concealed panicky look from Jim banned all thoughts about white clinic rooms with actual equipment from his thoughts. One day McCoy will get to the root of Jim’s aversion to doctors and clinics, but for now he’s just glad that Jim trusts enough to let him care for the younger man.

 _**Day 53** _

After a two hour nap, Jim looks oddly surprised when he wakes up wrapped in a cuddly green blanket.

“You bought a blanket?” he asks Bones, who’s been studying on his desk and now shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly.

“I’m a doctor, couldn’t let you freeze to death on my watch,” he mutters and tries to act as if it’s no big deal. He fails miserably when he bends down to retrieve a pillow he’s also bought and throws it on Jim’s lap, blushing a little bit at the soft expression in Jim’s eyes.

“You’re not a doctor,” Jim says and McCoy is about to ask if Jim’s head feels fine, when he adds, “you’re my friend” and McCoy doesn’t know what to say anymore – but he feels something warm igniting in his belly and he actually likes this feeling.

 _**Day 54** _

The next time Jim visits he says “Hi Bones”, strolls right past him and makes a beeline for the couch. McCoy raises his eyebrows. Huh?

“It’s still there,” Jim declares, his voice full of wonder.

“What’s still there?”

“The blanket.”

“The blanket?” McCoy blinks. “Of course it is. What did you expect? That it would grow legs overnight and walk away to join the Peace Corps?”

“No, it’s just …” Jim smiles softly and shakes his head. “Forget it.”

Jim is the weirdest person he ever met, that’s for sure. His fond little smile makes him feel ridiculously happy though.

 _**Day 55** _

“It means I can come back here, right?” Jim murmurs under his breath, eyes firmly glued to the television and not really looking at McCoy. He looks relaxed and sleepy under the green blanket, all loose-limbed and sprawled over the couch. At second glance he’s kind of tense though, as if he’s afraid to ask.

It takes a moment until McCoy realizes what he’s actually talking about. And when he does, his hearts clenches painfully.

He wants to tell Jim that he’s an idiot and that he shouldn’t need physical proof like a stupid little blanket to know that he can always come back here. And then he wants to yell at everybody who ever made Jim feel like a nuisance so that he doesn’t even realize anymore when he’s welcome somewhere.

He doesn’t say any of this. Instead he just nods and says one word. “Always.”

 **Day 56**

They spend the whole evening doing their assignments. Even Jim works.

Bones can’t quite believe it, yet he can see the books Jim has scattered next to the couch from the moment he set foot through the door in his quest to understand the Doppler effect.

At first, it is quite amusing to see Jim – Jim, who understands everything the first time and doesn’t need to revise anything since he rarely forgets something he’s seen once – having difficulties to grab this simple auditory concept, but after an hour and half Jim has leafed through at least five different books and still mutters furiously under his breath. He’s also rubbing his head and frowning a lot and McCoy knows these are the aftermaths of the concussion, which makes him angry as hell at Bent, but Jim won’t say a thing about it.

It is when Jim closes his eyes for a moment, leaning against the couch, that McCoy can’t stand it any longer, sits down next to him on the floor and draws an antique car and waves around it – there may also “ _broom broom_ ”-noises involved on McCoy’s part, but he’d deny this till the end of his days if asked.

Yet Jim’s excited smile and the subsequent hug when he finally gets it are worth the ache in McCoy’s knees and the outing of his embarrassingly poor drawing skills.

 _**Day 57** _

With being worried about Jim’s concussion and his justified anger at Bent, Christmas kind of sneaked up on McCoy. But maybe it also was his dread of that time. It is his first Christmas without Jocelyn, without Joanna, because of course that bitch of an ex-wife had to claim that holiday and their daughter for herself, and he tried his best to ignore that as long as he could.

He can’t now, though. Students and Starfleet personnel have left the campus left and right all day and now in the dark the grounds are almost empty. Christmas is here with a vengeance that knocks him right off his feet, and now he’s at his fourth or fifth shot of whiskey, trying to drown the loneliness and heartache he feels.

A ray of light falls into his dark room when Jim enters it, going straight to the couch before he notices McCoy sitting in a chair at his table.

“Bones! You’re still here?” Jim asks incredulously.

“Why, yes, Captain Obvious,” McCoy says and rolls his eyes. Then he realizes that Jim expected to find an empty room. “What are you doing in my room anyway?”

“You gave me the code.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

Jim’s brows furrow, but McCoy couldn’t care less. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve and he’s alone and without his little daughter and he just wants to get batshit drunk and wallow in his misery. With a heavy thud he sits down his glass and stares at Jim. “What business do you have to be in my room when I’m away?”

“I’m … “Jim takes a step back and is actually at loss for words. McCoy snorts at that. The mighty James T. Kirk doesn’t know what to say. Mark the day in the calendar!

“Please don’t tell me you wanted to bring one of your fuck buddies over here, only because my room is tidier than yours,” he snarls.

“What?” Jim stares at him, openmouthed. “Of course not!”

“Wouldn’t put it past you,” McCoy mutters.

“I’m … “And still, Jim can’t form a coherent sentence. Maybe he’s drunk as well. It doesn’t matter, McCoy just wants him gone.

“Yes?”

“I’m going,” Jim says, turns around and the door shuts behind him, leaving McCoy once again alone in silent darkness.

 _**Day 58** _

McCoy actually can’t remember much of that day. It passes in a blur of somebody helping him to the bathroom to puke his guts out, a cold washcloth to his forehead, water forced down his throat and sleep. Lots of sleep.

 **_Day 59_ **

He wakes up and doesn’t feel like shit anymore, which is great because he really doesn’t like feeling like shit. Well, he also doesn’t like to wake up to Christmas morning without his daughter’s excited voice urging him to get up so they could check what Santa brought during the night, but yeah … not feeling like his brain is trying to grate his way out of his skull is kind of nice as well. He’s still tired as hell, but nowadays he takes what he can get.

“McCoy?” A tentative voice asks and at first he can’t match that voice with anybody he knows. Then he turns around and Jim’s face swims into his blurry vision. “You okay? Can you say something? I didn’t know if you had alcohol poisoning when I found you, but I didn’t think you wanted to be admitted to the hospital you work at either, so I kinda figured it out along the way and … can you please say something?” Jim is rambling and he sounds scared out of his mind, not that he would ever admit it, mind you. But that’s not what grabbed McCoy’s attention.

“McCoy?” He rasps out.

“Huh?”

“You called me McCoy,” he says. “You never do that.”

“That’s not true,” Jim argues, but his smile is fake and he’s nervously running his hand through his short hair. “I’m doing it all the time.”

No, that’s not true, McCoy thinks. Jim calls him Bones all the time, and he got used to it, maybe even likes it. Nobody else gets to call him that. One guy from Astrophysics tried it once after having overheard Jim them during a break in class, but one glare from Jim and he never tried again. Jim calling him McCoy just rings false now, like something is fundamental wrong in his world and he doesn’t like this feeling. It feels even worse than the hangover from yesterday he only vaguely remembers.

“Call me _Bones_ , okay?” He says quietly, trying his hardest not to sound as if he’s pleading. Jim hesitates for a second and doesn’t look him in the eyes.

“You should sleep now,” he finally says and McCoy knows he should protest and apologize, but he’s tired and Jim draws the blanket to his chin and so he sleeps.  
 ** _  
Day 60_**

When he’s awake enough to sit up and look around in his room, he finds Jim sitting asleep at his couch. His head is tilted at an awkward angle and McCoy’s neck hurts just looking at him.

He scrambles to his feet and walks over to the couch and then he notices that Jim isn’t curled under the green blanket, but he’s holding it folded close to his chest. That’s when McCoy realizes why Jim went into his room the other night. Not scouting for a place to have wild sex, but to ease his loneliness by grabbing the blanket. The one thing in McCoy’s room that’s purely there for Jim.

McCoy takes a deep breath and tries not to let the guilt drown him, but it’s hard. He’s been such an asshole the last few days. Of course he isn’t the only one with no place to go during the holiday that everybody else uses for a family gathering and going home. Jim doesn’t talk about it, but as far as McCoy can guess Iowa ceased to be a place he calls home long ago.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” McCoy says softly and shakes Jim’s shoulders. He comes to with a start, and it nearly seems as if he tries to use the blanket as a shield against the world, but then he recognizes McCoy.

“You okay?” Jim asks and McCoy snorts. No, he’s not okay. He misses his little daughter and spent the last days in a drunken stupor, he’s been mean and cranky to the one person who deserves it the least, and on top of it all he totally forgot to buy Jim a Christmas present.

“Not yet, but I will be,” McCoy answers and helps Jim off the couch. “Come on, I’m gonna make pancakes.”

 **_Day 61_ **

If he’s honest than he would admit he’s scared. Jim’s relationship with his parents, whether dead or just absent, is screwed. And that’s putting it nicely. Still, McCoy’s not going to leave Jim alone without any explanation and forewarning. Also, Jim still calls him _McCoy_ ; it can’t get any worse, right?

“I have a daughter,” he says during another pancake breakfast. Until now Jim was happily devouring his fourth pancake, but now he stops from one moment to the other, lets his fork sink down and stares at McCoy. It would be a funny picture if McCoy weren’t scared shitless that Jim is going to bolt any second now. “Her name is Joanna and she’s a beautiful six-year old. Her mom got sole custody after the divorce and I get to see her like twice a year.” He doesn’t add ‘ _please don’t hate me for not telling you earlier_ ’. “Next time is New Year’s Eve.”

“You’ve got a daughter?”

“Yep.” No use denying it now, right? Not that he’d ever deny the existence of his beautiful girl, but some days it is just easier not to think about her.

“And you’re going to Georgia to spend New Year' Eve with her?”

McCoy wants to nod, wants to say ‘ _Yes, that’s the plan_ ’, but he can’t. And, more importantly, he doesn’t want to say that. Jocelyn will surely raise hell for what he’s about to do, but right now he doesn’t care. “I’m going to spend New Year’s with her, yes, but here. Want to show her the Academy.”

“Oh,” Jim says and starts attacking what’s left of the pancakes with his fork. “Have fun,” he says, subdued, and doesn’t meet McCoy’s eyes. McCoy wonders where the hell this conversation took the wrong turn and made Jim look like McCoy kicked his puppy.

“Wait, you don’t think … Jim, I want you to be there as well.”

For the second time during the breakfast Jim lets his fork sink down, but now he’s finally meeting McCoy’s eyes. “Seriously? You’re going to let me near your daughter? Aren’t you … like,” he moves his hand, “afraid or something?”

McCoy snorts at that. “I think you’ll get along just fine. Your mental age should match that of a six-year old perfectly.”

“Low blow, Bones. Low blow,” Jim replies, but he’s smiling – and he called McCoy _Bones_.

 **_Day 62_ **

They don’t do much of anything. They eat pancakes and have hot chocolate with marshmallows. They play some card games and Jim mutters curses in languages McCoy has never heard of when he loses. In the evening they order pizza, because McCoy knows how much Jim likes it, and they eat it sitting on the floor talking about all and nothing.

It’s then that McCoy realizes Christmas doesn’t suck at all.

 _**Day 63** _

“I’ve got to go,” McCoy says after breakfast. “Just for a couple of hours, okay?”

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” McCoy makes a wave with his hand. “Just … you know, eh … “ _Please_ , could he sound even more like he’s up to something? He’s so not going into the Academy’s intelligence track.

“Okayyyy,” Jim says and busies himself with his book in what McCoy thinks is Andorian.

About two hours later McCoy is back at his dorm, finding Jim exactly where he’d left him. He also finds a little package enveloped in gift wrap on his deck.

“That for me?” He asks and Jim actually blushes before he nods. “Thanks.”

“It’s nothing,” Jim says and stands up to walk over to McCoy.

“No, really. Thank you.” McCoy lays his own package on the chair before he unwraps Jim’s gift. It’s a data carrier and a small label with Jim’s handwriting explains that Carl Orff’s _Carmina Burana_ is on it.

“If you don’t like it, I can always,” Jim starts, but McCoy won’t have any of it.

“No need. It’s perfect.” He looks at Jim and smiles. “And now open your present.” He picks up the package and thrust it at Jim, who looks completely surprised at getting anything. “You didn’t think I’d vanish during Christmas and not get you a present, did you?” He doesn’t mention the part where he should have gotten the present way earlier, but Jim looks excited and doesn’t seem to mind his lateness.

“Whoa, you got me a rain jacket!” And now that Jim says it, McCoy feels ridiculous. Who in his right mind gives a jacket as a Christmas present? He’s tempted to take it out of Jim’s hand, apologize and offer to buy him anything he wants. “Cool,” Jim interrupts his train of thoughts. “Now I can go jogging in the rain and you don’t have to worry about me catching pneumonia. Thanks, Bones!”

And then Jim hugs him again and it’s one of these all-encompassing hugs, which seem to cover every inch of McCoy’s body with warm and affection, and McCoy hugs back.


	4. Chapter 4

**_Day 64_ **

They pick up Joanna from the shuttle port on campus and McCoy spends the first ten minutes of her visit holding her as close as possible. Jim stands a few meters away, before McCoy waves him to come over.

“Hey, Pumpkin. I want you to meet a friend of mine, Jim.” He turns around to Jim. “Jim, that’s Joanna.”

“Hi, little girl.” Jim greets her smiling and she smiles right back.

From then on it’s a contest who can be more childish. They make a tour of the campus and while McCoy is trying to stay serious, Jim makes up stories of ghosts haunting the Botanical Gardens and crazy accidents in the chemistry labs that turned people invisible and throughout all of it Joanna squeals in delight. Most of the times McCoy feels like the only adult within a hundred meters, but he’s laughing nevertheless.

 **_Day 65_ **

When the hands of the clock are actually nearing midnight, Joanna is fast asleep on McCoy’s couch, the green blanket covering her little form. McCoy and Jim stand at the window and watch the occasional firework that started too early.

“Sorry,” McCoy says, sipping from his champagne glass.

“What are you sorry for?” Jim asks, his brow furrowed in concern.

“Well,” McCoy hesitates for a second, and then he points at the window and the firework over the bay. “You don’t have to stay here, you know? You can go out and party. Celebrate. You don’t have to stay here with Joanna and me.”

Jim actually starts to chuckle and pats McCoy’s shoulder. “Its fine, Bones. There’s nowhere I’d rather be tonight. Don’t worry.”

 _**Day 66** _

Joanna doesn’t talk to them the next morning after she’s realized that she slept through New Year’s Eve. McCoy also gets an unpleasant call from Jocelyn and as soon Jim realizes that there probably will be screaming involved he coaxes the little girl outside with the promise of buying fireworks and celebrate New Year in ' _Jim Kirk and Pumpkin_ '-style.

An hour later McCoy’s voice is hoarse and he’s fed up with defending his choices to Jocelyn, but he can’t let her accuse Jim of being an irresponsible slut. Okay, so Jim can be irresponsible and he has more one-night stands than McCoy is comfortable with, but it is Jim. He’s only irresponsible about himself, never with others, and as far as campus gossip goes, he always make sure that his one-night stands know just what exactly they’re in for.

Jocelyn insults him one more time and finally McCoy has enough and shuts down the com channel. He leans his head against the screen and mutters angrily under his breath when his communicator chirps.

“Bones? You okay?” Jim asks as soon as McCoy answers.

“Yeah. How about you?”

“Pumpkin is happily eating away at the cotton candy I bought her. We’re at the fair at the pier. You want to come? Its fun and we could take a ride together.”

In the background McCoy hears his daughter happily agreeing to Jim’s proposal and he has to smile to himself. No matter what Jocelyn thinks, he wouldn’t trust any other person with his daughter as much as he does Jim.

“Sure. Give me twenty minutes and I’ll be there.”

 _**Day 67** _

Joanna doesn’t want to leave, which is fine, because McCoy doesn’t want her to leave either. Still, they stand at the shuttle port and McCoy is hugging her like there’s no tomorrow.

“I’m going to talk to you soon, okay?” He says and reluctantly let her go.

“Okay,” she answers and sniffles a little bit before she throws herself at Jim, nearly knocking him over.

“You gonna talk to me, too, Uncle Jim?” She asks and for a moment Jim’s speechless. Then he bends down to her, kisses her hair and smiles. “Of course, Pumpkin.”

 _**Day 68** _

The campus slowly begins to fill with more people again and it feels weird. McCoy got so used to his little bubble of Joanna, Jim and him that everyone else feels like an intruder. He even snaps at some random guy in the corridor to his dorm just because he was standing there. That’s a new level of grumpiness even for him. If Jim notices he doesn’t say anything, but when he sits down next to McCoy on the couch he’s holding two cups of hot chocolate with marshmallows in his hands.

 _**Day 69** _

“Helmsman or first officer?”

McCoy raises his head. “What?”

“Well, obviously you can’t be captain, because I’m going to be captain, but when you do your test, I promise I let you be captain,” Jim explains, still not making any sense. “This time though, I’d like to have you as my helmsman. I need you on the bridge, you know?”

McCoy stares at him, not sure what he missed and why this conversation is not making any sense. “No, actually I don’t. What the hell are you talking about?”

Jim spreads his arms, flailing a little. “Kobayashi Maru? Tomorrow? You remember? You promised to go with me and I signed you up.”

He doesn’t remember. Or … wait. Maybe he does. A vague little memory about Jim talking animatedly about the awesomeness that is Kobayashi Maru and why he is the first person ever to pass this test pops up unbidden in his head.

Oh shit. What the hell was he thinking when he told Jim to ‘ _just sign him up_ ’?!

“I … uh … great.”

“You didn’t forget it, right?” Jim looks anxious. “You got time tomorrow, right?”

“… sure.”

He hasn’t. He has a presentation to finish for Friday and he has to work two shifts at the hospital. But Jim looks so anxious and hopeful as if McCoy being there is the one thing that’s going to make all the difference between him passing or not. He has no idea why this damn test is so important to Jim anyway. It’s just a test. It’s just one of the things you need to do during your time at the academy. And no matter what Jim thinks, there’s no way to pass it. Everybody knows it. You just … you got to get it done somehow, sweat it out.

“Helmsman is fine,” he hears himself answer.

“Awesome.” Jim beams. “This is going to be fun. Let’s kick some Klingonian ass!”

Oh great. Nurse Simcoe is going to kick his ass when he’s going to change his shifts again.

 **_Day 70_ **

They don’t kick Klingonian asses. They get their ass kicked and handed to them on a silver platter, which is not exactly a huge surprise. Not to McCoy at least. He has expected as much, ever since he read online about the damn test last night. Nobody passes this test, because the whole purpose of it is to lose, to face defeat and to face certain death.

McCoy knows this is just a test, a game, a stupid simulation. It’s not real. And still … The panic is real. The people shouting are real. And the helplessness he feels watching Jim become paler and paler with the second is real, too.

“Two Klingon vessels entered the neutral zone and they’re locking weapons on us!”

“Captain!”

“They’re targeting our ship!”

“They’re firing. Captain!”

“We’re being hit!”

“Shields at 60 percent. Captain!”

“We can’t fire back. Their shields are still up!”

“Captain!”

And they’re all looking at Jim, expecting him to do something, expecting him to save them. And he just can’t. Of course he can’t. Nobody can.

It’s over sooner as he thought it would be, but not soon enough.

After they lose and – technically – after they die, it takes a while for the simulation to stop. Everything around them is dark (power ran out near the end) and nobody dares to make a sound. It’s eerily silent. There’s no voice telling them they ‘ _did a good job and it’s over now_ ’, there are no lights to remind them to get off the ship, to get back into the real life.

Just darkness. And silence.

Seconds tick by and McCoy really starts to hate this simulation now. He’s … just not good with darkness und silence in space.

“Bones …” There’s a whisper to his right and he flinches involuntary. A warm, familiar hand presses his shoulder and he instantly calms down. “You good?”

He nods and feels stupid a second later, because there’s no way Jim can see him right now. “Peachy,” he murmurs. He should totally shrug him off, but somehow he doesn’t really want to.

“This was fun, right?”

“Not really,” he replies honestly.

“Sure was.” Jim clears his throat and raises his voice. “Hey folks just wanted to tell you, you were really good and did a great job. Be proud of yourselves. Your captain kind of sucked though.” He chuckles and McCoy frowns because it sounds wrong somehow. “I totally think we should do this again. Maybe with a little more alcohol, just in case.”

Some people cheer and applaud, some laugh a little uncomfortably. McCoy is more than surprised that Jim seems to take it so lightly. Somehow he expected it to be more of a drama.

“Jim, you …”

“You know what? I’ll see you tomorrow, I really gotta run now …” And then Jim’s hand is gone and the lights flicker back to life.

“Simulation completed,” a metallic voice announces. “Please return to the gates. Please don’t use …”

He jerks his head around but Jim is just gone, vanished into thin air.

McCoy frowns when he gets up. He just wishes he could’ve seen his face …

The rest of the day passes in a blur.

McCoy feels weird and he doesn’t even know why. He realizes the Kobayashi is actually not a big thing. Whenever people mention that he looks kind of rough today he only needs to say the word and everybody is full with compassion and understanding. ‘ _Oh, that sucks_.’

Yes it does.

And Jim … Jim just stays gone.

He doesn’t even show up for dinner, which is cool because McCoy totally needed an evening for himself anyway. Except it’s not, because Jim never misses dinner. McCoy worries and he doesn’t understand what’s going on in this stupid blond head of his best friend and the feeling is weird and unsettling.

 **_Day 71_ **

It’s way past midnight when Jim finally shows up. McCoy is in bed already, not really sleeping, but trying to all the same.

Jim tries to be quiet and fails. And that’s when McCoy realizes things are really fucked up, because usually Jim can do quiet with the best of them.

“Damnit,” he sighs and runs a hand over his face when he catches sight of his best friend. He should’ve known it would happen.

Jim leans heavily at the door. He’s pale and sweaty and his clothes are dirty as if he has fallen repeatedly on the way. The worst part is the look in his eyes though. McCoy’s stomach clenches painful when he recognizes the complete and utter defeat he sees there.

“Jim …”

“My dad …,” Jim whispers, almost audible, and closes his eyes. And McCoy kind of freezes in mid-step, because Jim never mentions his father. Never. It’s like this big thing everybody knows about, but nobody ever talks to Jim about, because … you just don’t. “He could’ve done it. He would’ve saved us … and he would’ve died anyway. And I can’t even save people when it’s just a stupid simulation. I’m such a screw-up.”

McCoy swallows and it takes some time until he’s able to speak. There are a million things running through his head, things he could say now. Things Jim really needs to know. That he is not screw-up, but the best thing in this whole fucked-up academy. That he needs to stop comparing himself to a dead hero, because yes, he is going to be a hero one day, but not a dead one, never, because McCoy is going to be there and will make sure of that.

But he doesn’t say any of this. Jim is way too drunk to listen to reason right now. Instead he gently grasps Jim’s arms and steers him over to the couch.

“Go to sleep, Jim,” he orders softly, helps him lie down and unties his shoes.

“Promise, we’ll try it again?” Jim’s voice sounds drowsy and painfully young. “Bones? We’ve got to try it again. Can’t fail …”

“I promise,” he says and means it, because there’s no way he’s going to let Jim do this shitty simulation on his own.

He covers him with the fuzzy warm blanket Jim is so ridiculously fond of and goes back to bed. It takes hours before he’s finally able to fall asleep.

 **_Day 72_ **

The sky has already gone dark and McCoy is studying when Jim walks in the room, with a bloodied nose.

 _God damnit, Jim! I need to learn!_ , McCoy wants to mutter, because, god damn it, he’s got to read this xenobiology book for like yesterday, and it’s really difficult. But he knows Jim is still reeling from the Kobayashi Maru test and who the fuck thought it would be a bright idea to let Jim of all people takes that test anyway? Stupid Academy with stupid no-win scenarios and stupid Jim to fall into that stupid trap with open eyes.

McCoy doesn’t curse when he asks if Jim broke his nose. Jim shakes his head, but McCoy would be a fool if he takes Jim’s word at face value every time his personal wellbeing is concerned and he slightly touches Jim’s nose.

“Ouch.” Jim tries to take a step away from him, but McCoy stops him.

“Don’t be a baby,” he chides him and stops to touch Jim’s nose again. “It’s not broken.”

“Told you so.”

McCoy sighs and sits down again. “Go, take a shower.”  
 ** _  
Day 73_**

Jim is gone by the time McCoy wakes up, slightly disorientated since he’s not in his bed and somebody had thrown the green blanket over him sometime during the night. Well, seems like that somebody was Jim. McCoy yawns and then realizes that it’s the beeping of his intercom that had woken him. Turns out he’s _politely_ asked to do an extra shift in the emergency of the Academy hospital, because one of their doctors got sick – and isn’t that irony.

McCoy is occupied with bandaging a sprained ankle, when he hears the voices through the curtain on the far left side of the room.

“I don’t need paink - “

“Son, it will help.” That’s the voice of good ole’ Dr. Carter and McCoy has to smile, because nobody has gotten his way with him yet.

“God, just wrap me up and I’m good to – “ McCoy frowns, he knows that other voice as well.

“You have three broken ribs, son. It’s a miracle that you didn’t puncture a lung with you all up and around.”

McCoy leaves a flabbergasted cadet with a half-wrapped bandage and strides angrily to the curtain.

“They’re just broken, for god’s sake.” The voice takes a petulant tone. McCoy knows that one only too well.

“You should have come here first thing yesterday, son!” Dr. Carter is now saying.

“Would you please stop calling me _son_?”

With a fast movement McCoy draws the curtain aside and looks at the surprised face of Dr. Carter and at the even more surprised one of James _fucking_ T. Kirk. Only that the surprise fades as fast as lightning and then Jim smiles that brilliant smile of his, as if nothing is wrong in the world.

“Hi, Bones!” McCoy wants to throttle him. The guy doesn’t even have the decency to look ashamed.

“Jim,” he snarls and Dr. Carter takes a step back.

“You didn’t say that you’re on duty today.” Jim actually dares to dangle his feet from the bio-bed.

“You broke your ribs?” His voice is dangerously low.

“Yeah?” Jim looks as if he has no clue why McCoy is angry.

“Uhm … I’m going to leave you two alone for while, okay?” Dr. Carter says and draws the curtain behind him.

McCoy takes a deep breath to keep his calm.

”Hey, wanna grab something to eat when you’re done?” Jim asks and tries to put on his shirt.

Screw McCoy’s calm. He rips the shirt out of Jim’s hands and throws it to the side. “WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!?” He knows he’s yelling and using wide range gestures that threaten to push Jim from the biobed, but right now he doesn’t care. Would serve Jim right if he gets some additional cracked ribs.

“Whoa, Bones – “

“NO!” He jabs his finger at Jim’s chest, probably not the wisest move judging by Jim’s pained yelp. McCoy feels oddly satisfied by this. “Don’t you _Bones_ me! You come to me for every single cut and bruise you get, you stupid son of a bitch! Just last week you came running because of a _stubbed toe_! And yesterday? YOU DIDN’T SAY A FUCKING WORD! NOTHING!”

“You were studying,” Jim murmurs.

“YOU COULD HAVE PUNCTURED A … What?!?”

“You were studying and I don’t have a broken nose, which is what you had asked me.”

Sometimes, Jim’s logic is surprisingly … logical … but still screwed six ways to Sunday. McCoy sits down next to Jim.

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?” He sighs.

“Are you,” Jim sounds hesitant. “Are you angry? I mean, _still_ angry?”

“No.” He stands up again, grabs Jim’s shirt and hands it to him. “Just … God.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Next time, you come to me with this stuff, okay? Not just the baby stuff. I’m here for … for the big stuff as well.” He hopes Jim gets the whole meaning of this sentence, not just the mere words. Because even though has no clue why Jim is so reluctant asking for help, hell, even accepting help, McCoy will offer it to him nevertheless. He doesn’t know what else to do.

Jim looks at him and there’s this expression on his face, as if it has been a long time since anybody said something like this to him. “Okay.” His voice is quiet and without the usual mischief in it and McCoy nods. Then he dresses Jim’s torso and helps him into his shirt before they leave the hospital together.  
 _ **  
Day 74**_

Go figure that McCoy wakes up and has a headache from all the crap he has to put up with from Jim _fucking_ Kirk.

From his place on the couch Jim notices the frown between McCoy’s eyes as soon as McCoy blinks against the sunlight shining through the window.

“Headache?” He asks and McCoy just nods. Jim carefully rises out of his sitting position and fills McCoy a glass of water.

“How are the ribs?” McCoy asks after nearly drowning all of the glass and handing it back. “You slept okay?”

“I’m fine. And you could have let me go to my own room yesterday.”

McCoy just snorts. “As if you would have rest as ordered there … and you practically live here anyway. So I don’t mind … and this way I get to be sure you’re taken care of.”

If McCoy didn’t know it any better, he’d say that Jim actually started to glow a little bit at his words.

“Well,” Jim tilts his head, “looks I’m the one to take care of you today.”

“No, I can – “McCoy tries to sit up, but the room is dangerously spinning around him and his brain feels like a horde of elephants found their resting place there.

“Whoa, easy there.” Jim reaches out to steady him. “Lie down again, will you?”

McCoy grumbles, but complies and gets rewarded with Jim’s hand running through his hair. It feels good.

McCoy spends the day sleeping with the occasional break because Jim gets him to drink some more water or makes him eat a bit of soup. McCoy has no clue what Jim does the whole day when McCoy is sleeping, but he’s sure Jim doesn’t leave the room and whatever he does, he does it really quietly.

McCoy would never say it, but he’s thankful for both of these things.  
 ** _  
Day 75_**

“He still hasn’t filled that complaint, right?” The melodic sing-song-voice is strangely familiar and McCoy turns around, surprised. It’s late at night and his shift is almost over. He feels still kind of worn out and tired because of yesterday’s headache and all in all he wants nothing more than to crawl into his bed.

“Uh … hi,” he says. And then: “What?”

The girl in front of him smiles. “I’m Ria, in case you don’t remember me. We talked recently about this stubborn friend of yours. Jim Kirk. We are together in hand to hand combat.”

“I know,” he hastily reassures her. “Of course I remember you.” He honestly does remember her now and he’s still genuinely grateful that she called him that day. Jim, the stubborn idiot, never would’ve. “What did you say about the complaint?” He asks, when his brain finally catches up with him.

And just as he says it an almost forgotten memory pops up in his head.

‘ _Bent is an asshole and he picked Kirk as his favorite object to teach us a lesson, because Kirk had him nearly on the floor the first week … Your friend should complain, I’d back him up._ ’

“Wait, is that about Bent again?” He asks incredulously. “Hand-to-hand-combat-Bent who gave him the concussion? This Bent? You mean, he still picks on Jim?!”

“You saw Jim yesterday, right?”

McCoy stares at her and begin to feel cold. “You mean, the bloody nose, and the broken ribs which could’ve punctured his goddamn lungs … ,” he stops and tries not to yell at her. It’s not her fault anyway. “Are you telling me that was Bent?” he asks, feeling deadly calm all of the sudden.

“Well, I’m not sure …” she raises her hands apologetically. “All I’m saying is that he gives Jim one hell of a hard time and after last practice he asked him to stay. For some …” she makes quotation marks with her fingers, “… private lessons. I offered to stay with him, but he refused. You know how he gets and …”

“Yes.” McCoy swallows, tries to imagine Jim being alone with some sadistic bastard named Bent and feels nauseous. “Yes, I do know.”

“Look I’m really sorry, I don’t mean to cause any trouble for him, but he just doesn’t listen to me, or any of us for that matter, when we tell him to fill complaints against Bent. And it gets worse and worse every week. I know guys like Bent. He won’t stop until something really bad happens. You’re his friend, right?” Her soft sing-song voice sounds intense and pleading. “You need to stop this.”

He stares at her and sees Jim, goddamn, bloody idiot, who never tells him anything but rather gets beaten down to a bloody pulp, because of some misplaced sense of pride and honor.

“I will,” he whispers, “I swear, I will.”

 _**Day 76** _

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He demands as soon as Jim comes into his room. “Why didn’t say you something? Anything?”

Jim blinks. “Tell you … what? And hello Bones, by the way. Nice to see to you, too.” He still moves carefully and unusually slow and McCoy is sure his broken ribs hurt like hell underneath the brave facade. Strangely it makes him feel even angrier.

“Don’t play games with me!” He all but growls. “Don’t you dare, Jim, don’t you dare!”

Jim stares at him and starts to raise his hands defensively. “Okay? Obviously I’m missing something here. What did I do? I’m sorry, man. Whatever I did, I’m really sorry, I’m sure I didn’t mean it?”

McCoy takes a deep breath and tries to calm down. That’s not the way to go and he knows that. Being angry only ever makes Jim defensive and gets him nowhere on the long run. His anger is more directed towards Bent and not at Jim anyway.

“Please,” he says slowly and Jim looks actually startled at his suddenly soft voice. “You need to tell me what happened in hand to hand combat with Bent. Please, Jim.”

Jim freezes almost instantly. He swallows and his eyes widen. Seconds tick by without any of them saying anything. McCoy refuses to break eye contact for even one second, because he’s kind of scared that Jim is going to bolt any second now if he dares to look away.

But he doesn’t.

Eventually Jim breathes out and his shoulders slump. Slowly he walks to the couch and drops down. “You talked to Ria,” he states. It’s not even a question.

“She talked to me. But yes.” McCoy nods and carefully sits down beside him. “Don’t be mad at her. She was really worried about you.” So am I, he thinks, but he doesn’t say it because it would only result in Jim trying to deflect his concern.

“I know. I know.” Jim nods miserably and avoids meeting McCoy’s eyes. “I didn’t mean to make them worry. They exaggerate, though. Ria totally blows it out of proportion. I swear, it’s not so …”

“Don’t say it’s not so bad,” McCoy interrupts quietly but firmly. “I had enough opportunity to admire his handiwork during the last few weeks. So don’t tell me it’s not bad. Just … don’t.” He swallows and tries to calm down. “You know it is and he deserves to be expelled. I just want to know why, so I know if I should kill him first, before I accuse him of assault and abuse of his position.”

Surprised, Jim raises his head and stares at him. “You would … why would you …?” He stammers, sounding surprised and in awe all at once.

McCoy sighs softly, because that’s something Jim should know by now. “Of course I would. I would do it in a heartbeat if I knew you’d let me.”

“But why … I mean, it could be my fault, for all you know,” Jim points out.

“No. It couldn’t,” McCoy answers firmly. “Whatever he told you, he’s a liar and a bastard. But you are my friend. And that’s what I know for sure.”

Jim lowers his head, still looking confused as if he doesn’t know what to make of McCoy not blaming him for it.

“Jim …”

“No. I … I can’t … not right now … please, I need some time to think.” He runs his hand over his face, looking desperate and at a loss like a little kid. It makes McCoy’s heart ache and it really makes him want to kill Bent. Slowly. Instead he forces himself to nod.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he tells him and he really hopes it’s sooner rather than later, because this thing with Bent – whatever it is - it can’t continue. He won’t let it.

 _**Day 77** _

“Why what?” Jim asks the next evening. He looks nervous, like a spooked colt. As he sees McCoy’s questioning look, he clears his throat and specifies: “You said … yesterday, you said, you wanted to know … why. Why what?”

“I meant, why don’t you tell anybody?” McCoy answers carefully. “Why didn’t you at least tell me? Why do you keep letting him do this to you?”

“You don’t …” Jim wets his lips and averts his eyes. “You really don’t think it’s my fault for being such a brat?”

“Oh, you are a brat, I’ll give you that.” He instantly regrets it when he sees the way Jim flinches. “But you don’t deserve this crap. If that’s the excuse he tells you, that’s nothing but bullshit. Don’t tell me you believe this? Is that why you don’t want to tell anybody?”

“No. It’s not. I … don’t. I don’t. I’m just …” Jim shakes his head and swallows repeatedly. “It’s just … the things he says … I don’t want you to hear it. I don’t want anybody to hear it. But … especially not you.” The last few words are nothing but a whisper.

“Why?” McCoy asks gently. “Why don’t you want me to hear it?”

Jim licks his lips. “Because I don’t ever want you to look at me and … wonder if it’s true.”

For seconds McCoy is rendered speechless. The raw emotion in Jim’s voice makes his stomach churn. “Jim, I know you. Whatever he said is bullshit and I’d never …”

“He says I sucked dick to make it into the academy.” Jim looks startled and scared as if he can’t believe himself he just said it out loud. “That I’m just a pretty face with no brains and no talents. That I’m just here because of my … of my father,” he continues and closes his eyes. “And he said things … about me and Pike … and I didn’t, I swear, it’s not true! And I just couldn’t let him talk like that. Not about Pike!” He raises his head and looks at McCoy desperately, pleading. “People might think … and it’s not true. I don’t want them to talk about him like that. He doesn’t deserve this.”

Neither do you, McCoy thinks, but his throat feels dry and closed up and he swallows hard, before he’s able to speak.

“Nobody’s going to believe this crap, Jim,” he states firmly. “Not about you and not about Pike.” Not the people who count anyway, he thinks. All the academy trash, all the preppy school idiots and bullies think that way already. But they don’t count. They’re not important. Not as important as Jim’s well-being.

“But if I fill a complaint everybody’s going to know! And I don’t … I can’t … no.” He buried his face in his hands.

“Jim …”

“No, you don’t understand!” He sounds agitated. “Pike … he’s the only one … he’s the first person ever, who believed in me. Who gave me a chance. He gave me this chance and I can’t screw it up. I can’t do this to him.”

“Not the only one,” McCoy whispers.

“What?”

He turns around and returns his look, sure and steady. “He might be the first one who believed in you and this makes him a very bright man in my opinion. But I swear he’s not the only one who believes in you, Jim. He’s not.”

Jim’s eyes are suspiciously bright. “Bones …”

“No, Jim, listen to me.” He reaches for him. “If Pike really is the man you think he is, he’s going to be on your side. Maybe we should just go and talk to him and tell him everything. Then it’s up to him to decide.”

“We?” Jim sounds choked.

“Of course ‘ _we_ ’.” McCoy sounds almost affronted. “You think I want to miss meeting the guy who is obviously the only one who recognizes the best goddamn cadet on the whole academy when he sees him? Yeah right, buddy, I don’t think so.”

And if Pike is not the man he hopes, he is … than at least McCoy is going to be there to pick up the pieces.

 **_Day 78_ **

If the circumstances wouldn’t be so sad he would almost think it’s funny. Jim acts like a boy trying to impress a date. He wears his best uniform and he’s all nervous and tries to cover it up with acting nonchalantly. In a way McCoy feels as if Jim is just about to introduce him to his father, which is kind of so wrong on so many levels. Only that it’s kind of … not.

And then they sit in his office and Captain Pike looks all kinds of calm, intimidating and imposing and McCoy has a short second of panicked ‘What if he’s not going to believe Jim, what if he turns out to an ass, what if …’

But it turns out he has nothing to worry about.

Captain Pike is surprised at first to see Jim, but not unhappy. He proves to be exactly as smart and matter-of-factly as McCoy suspects he is when he cuts the small-talk and gets to the point in mere seconds.

“What’s going on, Jim?” He sounds serious and throws McCoy an inquiring, almost suspicious look as if he tries to estimate him. “Did anything happen?”

McCoy instantly likes the underlying protectiveness he detects and he tries not to smile. He relaxes ever so slightly.

“It’s my fault,” is the first thing out of Jim’s mouth.

“It’s not,” McCoy states calmly. He nods encouragingly at Jim. As he sees Pikes questioning look, McCoy raises an eyebrow as if to say ‘ _See? This is what I’m here for_ ’. The only answer he gets is something that looks surprisingly like a smile.

Good. This means they’re probably at the same page here.

The smile vanishes as soon as Jim begins to talk. The whole time he doesn’t look up and doesn’t meet Pike’s eyes, not even once. Captain Pike doesn’t interrupt him. He just listens.

Jim has a hard time explaining and he tries to plays it down, makes Bent seem like an overeager supervisor instead of a sadistic asshole. Only it’s not working so well. It makes McCoy’s intestines churn and makes him feel almost lightheaded with anger, even though he knows most of the story already.

When he’s finished, it’s silent for a long time. Something in McCoy aches to squeeze Jim’s shoulder just to show him he’s here and supports him no matter what. But he isn’t sure if Jim would appreciate it right now. So he firmly clasps his hands in his lap and forces himself to wait.

When Pike finally speaks his voice is calm and his face is unreadable. “Jim.”

Jim flinches barely noticeable. “Sir?”

“Jim, look at me.”

Painfully slow he raises his head, looking stiff and tense. “Yes, sir.”

McCoy holds his breath.

“Thanks,” Pike says, sounding completely sincere and very serious. “Thanks for telling me this.”

Jim’s eyes widen in surprise. “Excuse me, sir?”

“Thanks for trusting me enough to tell me this,” Pike clarifies. “I promise I will take care of it. You don’t have to worry about Bent anymore.”

Jim looks completely amazed. “You … believe me? Just like that?”

“Yes, I believe you.”

And McCoy can tell he does, because underneath the calm facade Pike looks tense and angry and agitated, but not at Jim. McCoy smiles because he kind of gets the feeling he wouldn’t want to be in Bent’s shoes when Pike is finished with him. That’s a good thought and it’s the first time since Jim told him what happened that he’s able to fully relax. It’s going to be okay. He doesn’t know how he’s going to do it, but he believes Pike when he says he’s going to take care of it.

When they’re about to walk out of the office, McCoy satisfied and Jim still looking confused and completely in awe, Captain Pike calls him back.

“Just a word, Cadet McCoy.”

“Sir?”

For seconds Captain Pike says nothing, just looks at him as if he’s trying to see something. When he suddenly starts to smile it’s almost a surprise.

“Keep that up, Cadet.”

And McCoy doesn’t even have to ask what he means. He returns the smile.

“Yes, sir.” And inwardly he adds ‘ _always_ ’.

 _**Day 79** _

“Funny thing happened,” a melodic voice says behind him.

McCoy doesn’t even have to turn around to know who it is. “So?”

“Yes. You won’t believe it. Turns out Bent is not teaching hand-to-hand-combat anymore.”

“Really? No way.” He smiles.

Ria nods enthusiastically. “I heard some rumors that he got a promotion. One that he absolutely couldn’t turn down.”

Surprised he raises one eyebrow. “What kind of promotion?”

Her grin widens ever so slightly. “Rumor says he got transferred to Aldor IV to teach hand-to-hand-to-combat.”

“The Aldorians have eight arms,” McCoy states.

She nods. “Well, I guess, that means he’s going to have a really hard time teaching hand-to-hand-combat.”

“Well, I guess that’s true.”

They share a secret smile.

 _ **Day 80  
**_  
The next day he changes the bandages around Jim’s ribs when Joanna calls.

Turns out she’s not only missing her dad, but her newfound uncle Jim, too. Since she insists on waving him, Jim steps in front of the com and waves at her. “Hi, Pumpkin.”

“Uncle Jim, are you hurt?” Her lower lip starts to tremble traitorously as soon as she catches sight of him. “What happened to you?”

And maybe McCoy should’ve thought about that, because she’s right. Jim still looks kind of rough with the bruises and bandages all over his torso. Before he can calm her down though, Jim starts to speak.

“Nah, don’t worry.” He smiles softly at her. “I’m completely fine. We were just playing doctor. Your dad needs some practice every once in a while, you know?”

“Oh.” That’s seems to sound plausible to her. “That’s fine then. I play doctor with my dolls,” she tells him. “When I grow up, I’m going to be a doctor. Just like dad.”

McCoy clears his throat, tries to say something and completely fails. As if he can read his mind Jim turns his head and smiles softly at him and then back at his little girl.

“This,” he tells her, “is the best idea ever. Doctors are awesome.”

She giggles and McCoy can feel himself blush.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Day 81** _

For someone with so much appreciation for the humanoid (more specifically the female humanoid) anatomy Jim shows surprisingly little interest in the anatomy of species without breasts.

“I just … don’t get it.”

“It’s easy.”

“No Bones, it’s not! It’s ridiculous and you just think it’s easy, because you’re a frigging genius doctor and your brain is abnormally large or something.” Jim sounds almost offended, as if the toparan anatomy tries to be difficult on purpose, just to annoy him.

McCoy doesn’t smile at that and he totally doesn’t think that Jim looks cute when he pouts like a five year old. He doesn’t.

“Are you honestly trying to insult my _brain_?” He asks instead and raises an eyebrow incredulously. “Or was that actually a pathetic attempt at a compliment?”

“I …” Jim pauses mid-rant. “I don’t know,” he admits and runs a hand over his face. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t get it and I think it’s stupid. Maybe _I’m_ stupid.” He sounds nonchalant. Anybody who doesn’t know him as well as McCoy does, would’ve probably think he tries to be funny. Unfortunately he’s not joking.

McCoy doesn’t know why and he doesn’t know how, but somewhere along the way and beneath all his false bravado and cocky exterior Jim Kirk has gotten the fixed idea that’s he’s a complete screw-up. He doesn’t talk about it and most of the time he doesn’t even mention it, but McCoy thinks he has a pretty good idea by now.

It’s in casual remarks and random comments Jim offers every now and then. It’s in the way Jim blushes uncomfortably and ducks his head when someone praises him for an above-average performance as if he doesn’t deserve it. And it’s in the way he constantly feels the need to prove himself.

He knows that Jim has way more emotional baggage than he lets on and he’s pretty sure he doesn’t even know the half of it.

“You’re not stupid,” he simply says.

Jim throws him a lopsided grin and shrugs as if it doesn’t matter. “Whatever. Let’s go out tonight! I need to stop thinking about livers and brains and the intestinal tract on the wrong place.” He shudders. “It’s disgusting anyway. What’s so fascinating about a species where women and men look completely alike anyway? There are not even breasts! It’s boring.”

“Why did I know you’d say that?”

“Because it’s true? Now, get a move on, Bones.”

McCoy crosses his arms over his chest and tries to look stern. “You called my brain abnormally large and now you want to go on a drink with me? Yeah, I don’t think so, buddy.”

“I swear, I didn’t mean it like that.” Jim put an arm around his shoulder. His silly grin is infectious. “I’m sure your brain is an ample beauty. All the other brains are jealous of its voluptuous curves and ….”

McCoy rolls his eyes. “Why do I even _know_ you?” He lets himself get dragged away and sighs. “Tomorrow I’ll make you learn all the damn parts of intestinal tract, I swear.”

 **_Day 82_ **

The next day they don’t get to learn the damn parts of the intestinal tract after all because Jim is busy puking his guts out.

Damn it, Jim.

McCoy is close to torture him with in-depth descriptions of the Toparan digestion process (which is kind of disgusting, even when you’re a professional), because it’s Jim’s own damn fault for getting stupidly drunk last night.

But then Jim looks at him all pale and sweaty and miserable and he just can’t do it. Instead he runs a hand over his face, sighs and guides Jim’s shivering form to the couch.

“’M sorry,” Jim rasps. “Didn’t mean to screw up learning…” He blinks tiredly, eyes huge and dark in his white face, and something tugs painfully at Bones intestines. Or maybe it’s his heart.

“It’s okay,” he replies and it’s supposed to sound gruff, except that it doesn’t. “I didn’t feel like learning anyway.”

After covering Jim with the soft fuzzy blanket he sits down next to him. He spends the rest of the day watching Jim sleep and he doesn’t think of intestinal tracts or the upcoming exam at all.

 **_Day 83_ **

He doesn’t really remember how it happens. One moment he is complaining about Jim’s lack of attention and Jim is bitching about how stupid it is to have two hearts when you only use one and the next moment they are incredibly close and he’s kind of … touching Jim.

“It’s not two hearts,” McCoy repeats, sounding exasperated and he impulsively puts his hand on Jim’s chest for emphasis. “It’s not working independently, it’s a system. Try to imagine it like … like pumps. Like a system of pumps.”

He uses technical terms on purpose because he knows Jim is a total geek about engineering and other boring stuff and it always catches his attention.

“A pump.” Jim’s frown deepens as he looks down.

“Multiple pumps that get activated from multiple locations and they’re all connected. From here and here and …” His hands are moving on their own now, wandering animatedly over Jim’s t-shirt. He gets overexcited like this sometimes when he talks about stuff that really interests him.

“Imagine there’s an impulse …” He puts his palm on Jim’s shoulder and slowly wanders downwards.

“… From the big gland” Jim points at an imaginary gland at his neck and McCoy nods.

“Exactly.” His hand stills above Jim’s heart. “And when one pump is activated it leads to …”

“… It represses the other … no wait.” Jim concentrates, puts his own hand besides McCoy’s. “It leads to _activation_ of the other so it can inhibit the first … pump. This way the organism doesn’t get too aroused by external factors. It’s a … a self-regulating circuit! Right?” He beams and his eyes are wide and hopeful.

“Damn straight it is,” McCoy answers and he can’t help but smile back.

His hands are still on Jim’s chest and it’s only then that he realizes how close they are. Jim’s heart beats under his fingertips, a little bit too fast, but reassuringly strong and steady. Jim is warm and flushed with excitement, his eyes are so damn blue and his smile is surprisingly soft all of a sudden.

“Thanks Bones,” he says sincerely.

McCoy feels his breath falter in his chest and it feels like forever before he’s able to remove his hands from the warm skin. “Yeah don’t mention … ,” he coughs awkwardly and clears his throat. “It was nothing.”

 **_Day 84_ **

It’s no surprise that Jim aces the damn test. Because he’s a genius and he doesn’t even know it. It’s not even a surprise that he jumps McCoy as soon as he catches glimpses of him.

The only surprise is that McCoy doesn’t ever want to let go. And that’s … that’s just stupid.

Because Jim, he is like quicksilver. He’s constantly moving, always on the go, always two steps ahead of everybody and always out of reach. He’s not something to have. He’s not somebody you could ever own or call yours.

Jim is just made to let go – and letting go is the one thing McCoy sucks at the most.

“Come on, Bones. Let’s go and celebrate,” Jim suggests with a broad grin and sparkling blue eyes. “Food is on me today.”

He runs again, talking in lightning speed and jumping up and down in front of McCoy like an overeager puppy.

And McCoy smiles and feels as if he’s forever orbiting around Jim like the earth around the sun. He might never arrive anywhere, but the pull of gravity is too strong to escape.

 **_Day 85_ **

“Hello Jim,” a sensual voice purrs next to them and they turn around at the same time. It’s a gorgeous looking brunette that McCoy is sure he knows from somewhere. As does Jim obviously.

“Tala,” he greets her. “Nice seeing you here. How are you doing?”

“I’m awesome, thanks.” She bats her long eyelashes at him meaningful. “Look, I thought maybe we could …”

“Oh. Uhm …” Jim throws an apologetic glance at McCoy. “Would you excuse me for a sec?”

“Yeah, sure, of course. Go ahead.” He waves his hand a little awkwardly and watches them leave. Something inside of him feels a little cold all of the sudden.

They had planned to spend the evening together to relax. Just sitting at the bar, drinking some beers, stuff like that. But he should’ve known better. It’s not as if Jim makes it a habit of leaving him for his dates. But he’s not exactly a monk either. It doesn’t matter. It’s just the way things are. Jim has random one-night stands and McCoy goes home alone and spends the night with his books.

Maybe that’s what he should do now.

Just when he has decided maybe he should just leave, Jim slides back on the chair next to him. “Fancy another beer?” He asks as if nothing happened.

“Uh …?” McCoy stares at him confused.

“Say yes, come on! Next round is on me.” He beams.

“But … what …?” And McCoy just has to ask: “What about Tala?”

Jim shrugs and looks a little embarrassed. “Yeah well, she just wanted ‘to catch up on old times’.”

“And …?”

“And I told her, I’m here with my best friend and don’t have time, maybe later. Or next week.” He sounds pretty unconcerned as if he doesn’t mind in the slightest that he just dumped a gorgeous woman, who was obviously more than willing.

For McCoy. Huh.

“Something wrong?” Jim asks with raised eyebrows.

“No.” Hastily he shakes his head. “Everything is fine.” And it really is, he thinks smiling.

 **_Day 86_ **

“Annual sport competition,” McCoy reads aloud when they’re about to pass the huge poster announcing this event. “Oh, come on. Whose stupid idea was that?”

Jim pauses mid-step. “You think it’s stupid? Why?”

“Oh please Jim.” McCoy rolls his eyes. “It’s just people being ridiculously competitive and getting hurt in the process. And for what? For nothing!”

Jim frowns. “But maybe it’s just for fun? Or seeing how good you are in relation to other people? I just think … it might be cool if your friends watch you from the sideline and root for you, you know?”

“Whatever.” McCoy waves his hand dismissively. “I still think it’s stupid.”

After that Jim is kind of quiet and withdrawn for the rest afternoon and he leaves pretty early.

“I’m just really tired,” he says, but somehow McCoy doesn’t really believe him. Something is bugging Jim and he has no idea what it is.

 **_Day 87_ **

It’s already way past midnight when all of the sudden he can see the literary scales fall from his eyes. He almost shoots straight out of bed. Oh goddamn it!

He has completely forgotten about it, but Jim does this running thing. He runs and he’s pretty good at it, too, as far as McCoy can tell … and knowing Jim who is the most competitive bastard out there, he’s totally going to take part in this competition. Which McCoy has kind of … totally called stupid and ridiculous.

He sighs and falls back into his pillow. Jim’s wistful voice echoes in his head.

‘ _I just think … it might be cool if your friends watch you from the sideline and root for you, you know?_ ’

 **_Day 88_ **

He’s not going to admit it out loud, but he might have been wrong about this whole thing being stupid and ridiculous. There are people everywhere who look as if they have the time of their lives. Everybody’s laughing and cheering and the participants are not nearly as competitive and grim as he imagined they would be.

And of course … there’s Jim.

Watching him run, smiling and panting, does funny things to McCoy’s stomach. Jim looks so content like that, almost happy … only that he’s constantly watching the sidelines with a kind of wistful longing in his eyes. It takes a few moments until he realizes what Jim is searching for. It makes his stomach clench in a way that makes him feel both humbled and incredibly lucky at the same time.

He feels completely ridiculous, but he can’t help it, he starts shouting like all the other lunatics around him. He waves his arms and shouts Jim’s name and feels like a complete idiot. Or more precisely he feels like a complete idiot until the moment Jim sees him.

Jim’s whole face starts to glow and his smile is so wide it threatens to break his face.

When he crosses the finish line (as first) he doesn’t stop though. He keeps running through the confused looking audience, heads straight for McCoy and totally jumps him. In front of everybody.

“You came!” He exclaims out of breath. “You sly dog! You totally came to root for me! I knew, you’d come!”

“Of course I came … Jim, let go! What are you …? Seriously! Stop hugging me!”

Jim is all sweaty and gross and overeager like a puppy and somehow it’s the best thing ever.

 **_Day 89_ **

This evening Jim falls asleep on his shoulder. And somehow McCoy wishes he wouldn’t be so incredibly content with this.

Things that are so good just don’t last … not ever.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Day 90** _

“Aren’t you like excited or something?”

“Yes, of course.” McCoy rolls his eyes. He sits at his desk while Jim lays sprawled out lazily on his bed, arms crossed behind his head. And he’s totally not working at his assignment as he should be. Lazy bastard. “I can’t positively imagine anything better than to crawl for hours through sand and dirt on a god forsaken planet with more vermin than people. Lucky me.”

“Best thing ever,” Jim agrees dreamily. McCoy shakes his head. Jim is actually looking forward to tomorrow. He’s a complete lunatic, that’s what he is. “It sucks that we can’t go together though,” Jim adds, looking decidedly unhappy all of a sudden. “We should be at the same team. We’d have so much fun.”

“I’m sure, we’d have,” McCoy murmurs, not really listening and tries to get back to his assignment for Xenobiology. “I really don’t know how to handle so much fun on my own.”

For seconds it’s eerily quiet on the other side of his room, but then he hears the sound of soft footfalls. “Bones?”

“Hm?”

“Just … promise you’ll be careful, all right?”

That grabs his attention. Slowly he turns around and frowns at the oddly serious undertone to Jim’s voice. “What?”

Jim shrugs, not quite meeting his eyes. “I just have … this weird feeling.”

“A weird feeling?” he echoes, because … _really_? “It’s just survival training, man. There are going to be Instructors and stuff. Nothing’s going to happen.”

“Look, I’m not gonna be there to have your back,” Jim continues as if he hadn’t said anything. “And I don’t like it. So you need to look after yourself.”

“Jim … I’m not the one who’s an almost constant visitor to the hospital this year, in case you’ve forgotten your disturbing track record.”

“Just promise me, Bones.” He sounds so sincere that McCoy feels himself soften almost against his will. Jim has the uncanny ability to melt the sarcasm right out of him.

“Yeah, fine. I promise.”

 **_Day 91_ **

His trainings mission lasts about half a day, which he spends mostly crawling through coppice and a desert, fighting of insects and quicksand and weird little alien life-forms, just as expected. When McCoy comes back into his quarters he’s dirty and exhausted and there’s sand in places that were never ever designed for sand. He takes a long, hot shower and contemplates if he should order pizza. Jim is ridiculously fond of pizza.

It’s almost 8 pm when he gets THE call. In his head it’s always going to be THE call. It deserves capital letter, even though at this moment it’s just one of many calls during one day.

“Dr. Leonard McCoy?”

He sighs. He’s so not doing the nightshift today. Not again. “What is it?” He grumbles, decidedly unhappy.

Someone clears his throat. The voice that follows sounds formal and stiff. “This is Lieutenant Wojczek speaking, doctor. You are listed as emergency contact of James Tiberius Kirk, is that correct?”

Strangely the second thing in his mind is instant denial closely followed by ‘ _What the fucking hell are you talking about?_ ’ Somehow he manages to say neither. “Yes,” he breathes, feeling as if someone had sucker punched the air right out of his lungs. “Yes, I am! What happened to him?”

“On behalf of Starfleet Academy I regret to inform you that survival group 89-delta-X07 is considered missing at this moment.”

“Missing? What do you mean, _missing_?” Not dead, not dead. Jim is not dead. He wasn’t even consciously aware of that thought until he realizes it had been the very first thing in his mind. He feels sick.

“We … we lost contact three hours ago, doctor.” For the first time the prim voice loses some of its coolness and it starts to sound a little reluctant. “We ask you not to worry though. This call is just part of the standard procedure. Please be assured …”

“ASSURED?” McCoy roars. “Assured, my ass! You tell me right now what the fucking hell happened or I’ll show where you can stuff your damn standard procedure!”

“Sir, I beg your pardon, but …”

“What. Happened?” he clenches his teeth, trying his best not to scream at the bastard, knowing it won’t do him or Jim any good. “ _Don’t_ make me repeat myself.”

“It was an unfortunate and completely unforeseen accident, Sir. The shuttle shut down on the way back …”

“Shut DOWN? What that supposed to mean? Your frigging shuttles aren’t supposed to shut down!” His heart beats a mile per second. Shuttle accident. Jim has been in a shuttle accident. How many people survive a fucking shuttle accident?!

“It was an accident. It crashed. Probably an electric storm … lost voice contact and then … search party is already on its way … haven’t been able to re-establish contact … no need to worry though … height wasn’t …”

The rest of his words disappear under the white noise in his head.

The one thing he can hear is Jim’s voice, as loud and clear as if he’d be standing right next to him.

 _‘I just have … this weird feeling.‘_

 _‘Just promise me, Bones …’_

 **_Day 92_ **

Minutes turn into hours turn into a day turns into a nightmare.

They send search party after search party. They find nothing. Not even a wreckage or debris. It’s as if the whole team … as if Jim … as if they’re just gone. Disappeared. Lost on a planet with a less than friendly environment. Stranded with broken equipment and rationed food and water supplies, maybe injured …

 _‘I just have … this weird feeling. ‘_

He needs to stop thinking.

 _‘Just promise me, Bones …’_

He needs his brain to stop conjuring up images of Jim’s bloody and mangled, unrecognizable body, blue eyes starring unseeingly up at the merciless sun …

Jim is fine. Jim is always fine … except for when he’s not.

Yeah, that sure is helping.

He hangs around the office waiting for news. He lies on his bed, stars at the ceiling. He ditches courses and doesn’t even feel bad about it.

Within hours the news are all over the campus. Nobody pays attention anymore in class, and even the instructors and professors look subdued and nervous.

 _Nothing like this ever happened before_ , Lieutenant Wojczek informs him with proper regret. He keeps on calling the bastard every few minutes just to annoy the hell out of him. It’s the only thing that prevents him from going stir crazy.

That and punching the Lieutenant that tells him cadets aren’t allowed on board with a search party. _He’s too involved emotionally_ , he says.

McCoy is so close to punching him again, but his sight has become inexplicably blurry, so he doesn’t.

 **_Day 93_ **

Jim is the only friend he ever had.

Which is a very sad track record if you consider his age and how much he’s been around so far. He knows that. He’s just not the type for friends. Hell, he doesn’t even like people. He likes patients. There’s a subtle but important difference that most people just don’t get. Patients are subjects. Patients don’t expect anything of you except that you try to heal them and that’s a least something he knows how to do.

And then there’s Jim.

Who is neither people and even when he’s injured he’s not a patient. He’s just … Jim. And there’s nothing ‘ _just_ ’ about it.

They start to inform the families. Just to make sure. Everything is fine. It’s just standard procedure.

He starts to think he might kill someone if he hears that phrase one more time.

He spends hours starring at the com console, because he doesn’t want to miss it when they call. He keeps bugging Wojczek just to do _something_. He plans to hijack a shuttle.

He takes shift after shit in the hospital in the slight hope that they’re going to be the first ones to get notified when they come back. He doesn’t dare to sleep, because he might miss the moment when they come back.

When. Not if.

He holds on. Because he doesn’t know what else to do and he doesn’t know what happens when he lets go.

 **_Day 94_ **

The doorbell rings.

He jerks and can literally feel his heart stopping. He hadn’t expected this. Not this. Calls might mean anything, but visits … visits are bad. Everybody knows that. They only ever tell you in person when … when it’s bad.

He races to the door and stops right in front of it. Presses his forehead against the door. Breathes. Steals himself. He needs to know. He’s a doctor for god’s sake, he can take it. He rips the door open and barks: “What?” Words catching in his throat. He had expected some unknown face, some official looking guy or girl with serious expression and the “I wish I wasn’t here right now”-look in their eyes. He thought he’d be prepared, but nothing prepares him for the sight in front of him.

It’s Jim.

“Hey Bones …” He leans heavily at the door frame, pale and dirty, looking as he’s about to keel over any minute now. He’s a ghost, a hallucination, he _has_ to be. His mind is playing tricks on him, way too little sleep and too much stress and … “Missed me?” There’s so much dirt and grime on his face that McCoy almost doesn’t see the soft, relieved smile playing around his lips.

He’s real and he’s a mess, bloody and bruised, but alive and breathing. And he’s the best thing McCoy has ever seen.

“Bones?” Jim sounds a little insecure now and he realizes he hasn’t even dared to breathe. “Say something?”

He doesn’t, he can’t. But then Jim kind of forces him to act when his knees decide to buckle.

“Jim… ,” he breathes and jumps forward, catching him around the waist. He feels thin and fragile in his arms, which is absurd, because Jim is the most not-fragile thing he ever came across.

“Sorry, I’m …” he stops and coughs. It’s a rattling sound that tears at McCoy’s heart.

“Jim,” he repeats stupidly, because it really is the only thing on his mind.

He hugs Jim and buries his face into his neck, feels like suffocating and breathing all at the same time. Some weird bittersweet feeling is unfurling in his stomach, sharp and aching like shards of glass. And it’s stupid, it’s girly, because suddenly he feels as if deep down he had always, _always_ known that Jim would be all right.

Only he hasn’t. For three days he hasn’t.

“Sorry,” Jim murmurs again.

“Jim, god …” Breathing never felt like so much work before. He can’t stop running his hands over the dirty and blood-stained uniform and he can’t stop touching him. He needs to feel something solid, something _real_. He swallows and forces himself to calm down. “What happened? And what the hell are you sorry for?”

“Sorry, I’m late. Didn’t mean …” Jim lets his head rest on his shoulder. “Didn’t mean to make you wait. Bet you ordered pizza and it got cold. Thought of it all the time. Pizza. And you.” The last few words are almost inaudible and all jumbled together. He sounds exhausted and almost delirious and that’s the moment when all of McCoy’s doctor-instincts go into overdrive.

“Damnit, Jim!” He barks. “What are you doing here? Why aren’t you in a hospital?” He’s so close to shaking him (irresponsible, stupid, careless brat!) and only his professional ethics prevent him from doing so. Anxiously he steps back, tries to gauge Jim’s condition. _Concussion_ , he thinks, seeing the way Jim’s eyes don’t quite focus. _Dehydrated. Exhausted_.

“Why didn’t those brainless dumb bastards take you to the hospital?” He demands, feeling angrier with the second now. Anger has always been the easiest emotion. Easier than all the other things he feels which he can’t even name and which threatens to drown him if he stops just for one second to think about them. “I’m going to kill those stupid, incompetent, lazy fuckers! You need to be under medical observation. Damnit, Jim …!”

“Didn’t want to.” Jim shakes his head and even this small movement seems to make him feel dizzy. His hand shoots out and he grabs the doorframe to steady himself. “Don’t need a hospital.”

“Damn straight you do, your irresponsible little …brat! We need to check you for a concussion and inner bleedings and the way you’re holding yourself, probably for broken ribs, too,” McCoy lists, hovering at Jim’s side because the kid looks as if he’s about to keel over any second now. “And God knows what kind of space germs and viruses you brought along! I’ll better give you another tetanus shot and …”

The smile catches him completely off-guard. Jim is so … pale and bruised and dirty and he’s obviously injured, but right now, smiling like this, he looks almost happy. “Don’t need a hospital”, he slurs, sounding loopy and completely wiped out. “Because I’ve got you.”

And suddenly everything looks slightly blurry and McCoy forces himself to blink and swallow. Because damnit, he’s a doctor, not a crybaby.

“Yeah, you got me”, he says softly. Not waiting for an answer he reaches for Jim’s arm and gently steer him toward the bed.

Because Jim is right. He doesn’t need them. Those stupid military doctors don’t know shit about Jim and all the things he doesn’t like and the things he can’t handle, like the way he freaks when people touch him without forewarning and explaining what they’re going to do now.

But he does. That’s why he’s going to take care of him.

And then he’s going to kill him for scaring him like that.  
 ** _  
Day 95_**

Jim is sleeping on McCoy’s couch, even though McCoy had insisted he should take McCoy’s bed with all the bruised skin and cracked bones he’s suffered from that cursed mission, for which McCoy still wants to kick every ass at Starfleet Command.

McCoy is angry, which is why he can’t get his brain to shut up and he lies awake, listening to Jim’s deep breathing and he never thought that he would find this particular sound as reassuring as he does. His eyes finally slide close and he can feel his thoughts slipping, when he hears it. It’s only a faint sound, he nearly can’t make out the word, but then Jim repeats it and its ' _Maja_ ' and McCoy’s stomach clenches. That’s the poor girl that died on the mission and for whose death Jim blames himself. McCoy knows that’s utter nonsense, but Jim always takes way too much responsibility on himself as if it isn’t his own well-being or security he should be worried about.

McCoy’s eyes are still closed when he hears the rustling of the blanket. He waits for the sound of footsteps, but it never comes. Curious he opens his eyes a bit and sees Jim, knees drawn up to his chest, elbows draped over them, looking utterly forlorn in the pale moonlight shining through the window.

McCoy can’t stand that look, but providing outright comfort never works too well with Jim, so he decides on a different course of action. He jolts in an upright position and pants a little, eyes rapidly blinking. In an instant Jim is on his feet and by his side.

“Bones? Everything okay?”

McCoy shudders. “Nightmare. Purple aliens and tentacles and … gaaah … “

Jim puts a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay. It’s not real. Just a nightmare.”

“Yeah … still don’t think I can go back to sleep now.” McCoy looks at Jim and tries to ignore the lines of pain and stress engraved in his face. “Wanna bake muffins with me?”

“Mu … muffins? Now?”

“It usually helps.” He scrambles free of his blanket and sets on for the killing blow. “Please?”

Jim still looks dumbfounded, but also a little bit relieved at not being the only one awake anymore; try as he might hide it. “Okay, sure … if it helps.”

McCoy gets out of bed, slaps Jim on the shoulder and smiles the whole nine yards. “Thanks.”

 **_Day 96_ **

They sit in their favorite bar, half hidden in the shadows. It’s not what McCoy had in mind when Jim had said he wanted a change of scenery. McCoy had thought they’d go to the beach and watch the sunset or something similar sappy, but Jim had wanted to come here. And right now McCoy is inclined to do anything Jim wants him to do, just so he can keep close by and make sure that Jim’s still alive and breathing. Which doesn’t mean he lets Jim drink any alcohol. He’s a doctor, not a maniac.

So, they sit here, not really talking, until McCoy just can’t keep his thoughts to himself any longer. “Why me?”

At first he doesn’t think Jim is going to answer him. It wouldn’t be the first time he chooses to ignore one of McCoy’s inquiries.

Jim takes a long sip from his beer-without-alcohol and finally answers with an authority as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Because you said you’re in for the big stuff as well.”

 **_Day 97_ **

‘ _You’re in for the big stuff as well._ ’

That sentence stays with McCoy the whole day and it makes his stomach queasy and his hands nervous. After he messes up his dissection in his Autopsy class for the third time, his teacher takes him to the side.

“What’s up with you, McCoy?” Twinings asks. “Normally you need only five seconds for this and now your hands are shaking as if it’s your first date.”

“I’m …, “McCoy starts, but there’s nothing to say, is there? Because he can’t tell Twinings that he feels like the biggest hypocrite in the world right now. That Jim trusts him and put him as his goddamn emergency contact, while he went around his back and abused his medical privileges to spy on him.

“Go and do whatever you have to do. You’re no use for me if you screw up and I can’t present you any longer as the fine example the rest of the class has to aspire after.” Twinings says these words without any heat, he just seems concerned. McCoy nods and leaves the class in search for Jim.

He finds him as he’s coming out of _Interspecies Protocol_ with a bulk of other students. Apparently they’re in the middle of a heated discussion if it causes an intergalactic incident would a starship captain refuse a Risan mai-tai while on duty down on Risa. Of course Jim is arguing for drinking as many mai-tais as he’s offered.

Jim wants to start in yet another argument for his side when he spots McCoy. “Hey, Bones!” He exclaims and with a wave of his hand leaves the other students behind to walk to McCoy. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have your Autopsy class right now?”

“I need to talk to you.”

Jim actually takes a step back at his words. “Uh … nothing good ever came out of a talk that started with these words.” He tilts his head. “You’re not going to break up with me, are you?”

McCoy can’t help but laugh at his words, yet he sobers up really quickly when he thinks that it is Jim who is likely to break up whatever they have after this conversation.

“I … damn it,” he runs a hand through his hair.

“Bones? You’re scaring me here, man.”

“After the kitchen went up in flames I used my medical privileges to look at your personal file.”

“You … what?” Jim stares at him and it’s not a nice stare.

“I only read about the _Kelvin_ and your aptitude test and that Pike is your advisor. Nothing else, I swear. I’m sorry,” McCoy says in a rush.

“You … “ Jim blinks and takes yet another step back.

“Jim – “

“No … I … just … see you, Bones.” Jim turns on his heel and all but runs down the corridor, away from McCoy who leans against the wall and feels like the worst person on earth.

 **_Day 98_ **

Jim doesn’t show up that day. McCoy is tempted to call him, to make sure he’s okay and probably apologize again, but he doesn’t do any of these.

Jim had called him _Bones_ and that’s as good as any promise that Jim will be back.

 _**Day 99** _

“Why did you read it?” That’s the first question out of Jim’s mouth when he enters McCoy’s dorm room in the evening.

“I just … I wanted to _understand_ , you know?” He looks up to Jim from where he’s sitting at the couch. Jim leans against the doorframe, a puzzled look on his face. “There I was, a grumpy old doctor and you took to me like I’m the only shovel in the sandbox. And then you were so worried about me being angry at you after the fire, as if I’d care about things when you could have been hurt.” He runs a hand over his face, willing Jim to understand what he’s saying here. “I never wanted to betray your trust, I … damn it, Jim. I care about you, okay? I just wanted to know if there was anything I could help with.” McCoy feels exhausted after this and for the longest time Jim just stands there, as if he lost his ability to speak. Then he sits down next to McCoy, their knees just about touching.

“You do, Bones, you do,” Jim says quietly, sinking back into the couch and it feels like McCoy can breathe for the first time in two days.

 **_Day 100_ **

McCoy is not nervous. He’s a doctor, not some overprotective mother hen. Which is exactly why he isn’t looking at his watch every ten seconds and doesn’t pace the space of his room … apart from the fact that he is. Damn it. He groans and rubs his hands over his face and ultimately succumbs to his fate.

“Computer, locate Cadet Kirk.”

“Cadet Kirk is currently in the Cochrane-Library.”

“You gotta be kidding me. At this time in the Library? My Ass.”

“Couldn’t process the request, please repeat – “

“Shut up.”

For a moment, McCoy doesn’t know what to do. They hadn’t talked about today, hadn’t agreed on any form of conduct. He had just assumed Jim would swing by, McCoy would congratulate him, they would get sufficiently plastered somewhere in a bar and wake up sometime tomorrow with a hangover from hell. Guess he was wrong, but he just can’t leave Jim alone. Not today. Maybe not ever.

He finds Jim in a remote corner of the library, after nearly stumbling over him in the dimly lit room. Of course Jim wouldn’t sit on a chair like every normal person, but prefer the carpet as his resting place. Yet McCoy doesn’t mutter angry words, Jim looks way too unhappy for his birthday to do that.

Jim acknowledges his presence with a nod, but they don’t talk. Sometimes, they don’t need to, they just click. And so McCoy sits down next to him, leaning his back against the shelf and takes in all the datapads and books and pictures surrounding them both on the ground. They’re all about the _Kelvin_.

“Every year at this time I go through everything I can find on the ship,” Jim doesn’t look at him when he speaks in a low voice and McCoy knows that by the _ship_ he actually means his dad. He swallows and doesn’t know what to say, how to make it better, if that’s even possible. “That,” Jim points to a datapad lying innocently between them and takes it into his hands, “is the recording of the last communication from,” his voice crumbles for a second, “from my dad.” McCoy feels sucker punched.

“You can hear me wail and they decide on my name and …,” Jim voice gets lost again in the room full of shadows and McCoy thinks he’s a hypocrite for wanting Jim to stop telling him these things. It hurts to hear his best friend sounding so broken, so raw, and being unable to help. “He tells my mom he loves her – I wonder … I wonder if he would’ve loved me, too.”

McCoy closes his eyes for a second and trying his best not to break as well in front of all this anguish. Jim is clenching the datapad so hard his knuckles have gone white. McCoy leans over and gently retrieves it from his fingers before laying it down on the ground again. Jim looks at him, his blue eyes standing out even in the half-light of the deserted room and McCoy says the first thing that comes to his mind.

“I brought jello.”

Jim blinks at him and at the same moment that McCoy is trying to find the fastest way to vanish from the face of earth, Jim begins to smile.

“The red one?”

“Of course.” McCoy reaches behind him and pushes the jello and a spoon over the carpet to Jim, who picks it up and stares incredulously at McCoy.

“You smuggled it past the librarian? I’m impressed.”

McCoy wants to say that he’d do a lot more than just smuggling food into a library for Jim, but here is neither the time nor the place for such a speech. Instead he spends a few minutes watching Jim happily devouring his jello, before he gathers the courage to speak again. “From what I heard about your dad I bet he would have loved you more than anything else and he’d be damn proud, too.”

Jim doesn’t say anything, but he leans against McCoy’s shoulder and silently eats the rest of his jello. McCoy doesn’t know if what he had said holds any weight with Jim, if the jello was the right gesture, but for the moment Jim’s warmth rests against McCoy’s body and that’s enough.

Everything else they will see.

 _\- fin_

**Author's Note:**

> **Authors’ notes**
> 
> _Hope Calaris_
> 
> This fanfic? Is epic. I never thought it would work out the way it did or that it would be so long. Thanks to rei17 for adopting me as her little sister and keeping me company through the craziness that consists of non-chronological writing (what were we thinking???), characters with issues that make a black hole look bright, and the overall fact that Jim and Bones never do what we want them to do. Thanks also to our little chat group (you gals know who you are) and janiebj for cheerleading.
> 
> _Rei17_
> 
> I don’t know what to say. OMG. I’ve never thought we’d get this done. Ever! It’s SO long! It’s all Jim’s fault though. He just never stopped angsting and talking and being so all around adorable. It’s way more slashy than I ever hoped it could be which makes me almost ridiculous happy. Thanks to hope_calaris - I couldn’t have done it without you! Thanks for kicking my ass when I needed it and being the most awesome co-author. You win! Let’s never do this non-chronological writing thing again, okay? Beta-reading this monster for continuity was a BITCH!


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